


Sometimes Just One Second

by MyVeniVidiAmaviLife (onyourleft1920)



Category: Alice In Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, Arthurian Mythology, Once Upon a Time (TV), Pete's Dragon (1977), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Disney Characters - Freeform, Don't Make Her Mad, Esme Rules Everything With Sarcasm and Sass, Expect Avengers Faces as OUAT Characters, F/M, Fake Character Death, Familiar Faces as Familiar Characters, Hamilton Likes To Make Things Explode, Happily After All, How Do I Tag, In desperate need of a beta, Injury, Inspired by Once Upon a Time (TV), Jefferson Is Incorrigible, Liquid Cupcakes, Madge Is Amazing, Portal Jumpers Have No Fear, Priscilla Is Dangerous When Provoked, Sass and Snark Abounds, WIP, Weapons of Culinary and Physical Destruction, Who Ordered the Fluff, so much pining, so much sass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15219086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft1920/pseuds/MyVeniVidiAmaviLife
Summary: Jefferson has his daughter again, and quite content with the world as it stood, unaware of the failsafe of Regina's, unaware of the hunt for his Hat, and unaware that his happily ever after wasn't quite over yet.His wife breathes again but has no knowledge of his existence; she has befriended their daughter and yet doesn't know her face.  Old friends have come back into his life, and memories haunt their every step.  And the threat of the failsafe hangs over their heads on top of it all.(Updates Every FRIDAY EVENING as of 7-13-2018)





	1. Chapter 1

**_After the Curse Breaks. Current Time._ **

 

"Come on, Papa!" Grace cried happily, tugging on his hands in both of hers. 

It was a cool early spring day. They were bundled up effectively against the chill, feeling the last breath of winter on their heels as they walked. Though Jefferson thought with a smile and a squeeze to their joined hands, they had forgone gloves and mittens just to feel the skin to skin contact of their hands. Since their reunion almost a week ago, Grace and Jefferson had become very tactile, unable to deny themselves hugs and cuddles whenever the mood struck them. 

Jefferson wasn't about to deny his daughter the hug from her father, no more than he was willing to deny himself the same. It was the first weekend since their reunion, almost a month after Regina's curse on Storybrooke had been broken. Watching his beloved daughter guide him down the sidewalk to their destination, he felt the ever-present awe and wonder fill him. Grace had her fathers smile, height, and cheekbones, but the rest of her was all Priscilla – her mother. 

Thinking of his wife still made him choke up with grief even after all of these years. He'd loved her fiercely, hungrily and completely. As trite as it sounded, coming from a man who lived in a town filled with fairytale creatures and people, Priscilla had been his true love, his soul mate. She had been one of the kindest souls he'd ever met, though he'd be the first to say that she had a temper on her when he got too melancholy, maudlin or wrapped up in the next scheme he could get into. 

She'd died protecting an infant Grace – if she hadn't laid down her life and hidden their child, he would have lost both his wife and his child. So if that meant he had put Priscilla on a pedestal in his mind and memories, so be it. She was a hero, his hero. His daughter's hero. 

Grace had Priscilla's warm and giving personality, the endless gray of her eyes, her laugh. It had been difficult, at first, when Grace had developed so many of Priscilla's characteristics – especially when Grace had no memory of her mother. But it was a blessing too, to still have that little bit of his wife in his life. 

"We're almost there!" Grace squealed excitedly, and Jefferson couldn't stop the delighted laugh that escaped him. "Miss Aubrey's so nice, papa, you'll love her. She makes the best cupcakes and she even let me help decorate a batch last time!" 

"Did she now?" Jefferson asked, running his free hand down the length of his daughter's light auburn hair – again, just like her mother's - that escaped her hat. "Think she'll let me decorate a few?" 

"Maybe!" Grace chirped enthusiastically, swinging their joined hand between them. "They'll be perfect for our tea party, papa, I'm so excited!" 

Since their reunion, Grace had talked nonstop about her new friend Miss Aubrey, and her bakery "A Baker's Tale". How nice she was, how she always made time for Grace, how pretty she was – if Jefferson didn't know better, he'd think Grace was playing at being a matchmaker. But it had been many years since Grace had tried to fill that aching loneliness within her papa with who she deemed 'eligible suitors'. 

Turning onto 3rd Street, Jefferson saw the sign for "A Baker's Tale" hanging on an awning. A crisp breeze blew in their faces, flushing their cheeks with the nip, and making the sign swing and creak with the motions. The (retired) portal jumper paused at it, staring up at the sign with a little bit of suspicion. He knew of no fairy tale person named Aubrey, but then, he hadn't really been making all that many friends on his adventures. But it was obvious that this Aubrey had an affection for Alice in Wonderland, which automatically made his hackles rise. 

A tea party straight out of an oh-so-familiar tale sat in the sign itself – giant teacups, small cakes and cookies, and a giant three-tiered cake stood at the background of the sign, while the name of the bakery was in the forefront in beautiful script. Jefferson saw a glimpse of a white rabbit ear, a mouse scurrying along the white tablecloth, and – what really stopped him in his tracks – a familiar hat decorated the top of the three-tiered cake, cocked at an angle. 

"Come on, papa!" Grace said, tugging impatiently at their hands. 

"Grace, who is Miss Aubrey?" Jefferson asked softly, drawing her closer to him protectively. 

She frowned up at him, a wrinkle appearing between her eyes. Strands of hair had come loose to frame her face, escaping the confines of her slouchy knitted hat. She was dressed in jeans and a blue blouse, with knee-high black riding boots and her blue woolen coat. Despite them not wearing gloves, he was determined to make certain that she was warm and didn't catch a cold.

"She's Miss Aubrey," Grace replied in confusion. "She's the baker." 

"I know but...do you remember about our time in the Enchanted Forest?" Jefferson asked, kneeling down to be eye level with his daughter. 

"Yes, papa." 

"So you know that Mary Margaret was Snow White, and David was Prince Charming." 

"Yes, papa." 

"So who do you think your Miss Aubrey is?" Jefferson asked, tucking one of the curls that had escaped her hat behind the delicate shell of her ear. 

"I don't know," Grace said, shrugging her shoulders. "But she's really nice, papa. She can't be anyone bad." 

Jefferson worried internally but did his best not to show it. His gut said that something was going on, and if his gut said something was going on, then it most definitely was. Staring into the hopeful eyes of his daughter, though, he knew he couldn't deny her the opportunity to see her friend. He did owe the woman some thanks for caring for his daughter during the search for Jefferson. While Grace had stayed with the Blacks, she had spent quite a bit of time with Aubrey, telling her about the search, her day at school, her feelings and worries. Aubrey had taken Grace under her wing and become a confidant for his lonely daughter, and she deserved to be thanked for it. 

At Grace's resumed impatient tugging, Jefferson and Grace continued down the sidewalk. When they reached the door and opened it, the jangle of bells on the doorknob made his smile despite himself. Holding the door open for Grace, who ran in eagerly, Jefferson shook his head wryly at his daughter. 

"Miss Aubrey!!" Grace called out loudly, "It's me!!" 

Jefferson put his hand on his face, slightly embarrassed by Grace's rather loud enthusiasm. 

"Just a minute, Grace!" Came a female's voice from what Jefferson assumed was the kitchens, "I'll be right there!!" 

Grace pressed her hands and face against the glass countertop, smudging the surface as she looked at the various cookies, cakes, and confectionaries on display. Taking a look around, Jefferson tucked his hands into the pockets of his woolen coat. The walls were a deep cinnamon color, with pale golden trim. Various paintings and pictures of cakes and cookies hung on the walls, and there was a corkboard near the front door that had local business files and cards, including the flier that Grace had given out looking for her papa. 

A small metal café table and chairs stood by the wide front window, and there was a box with advertisements for 'A Bakers Tale' telling what services they offered. The whole bakery smelled decadent, and Jefferson felt himself begin to salivate despite himself. 

"See one you like, sweetheart?" He asked, coming forward to stand beside his daughter. 

"That one!" Grace said, pointing to a pink frosted brownie in the shape of a rabbit. "Looks pretty good." 

"Tastes pretty good too," came a warm voice in front of them. 

Jefferson was smiling reflexively when he looked up. Light auburn hair was gathered in a loose bun on the top of the woman's head. Pale skin was flecked with frosting in various colors and flour as if she'd wiped her face with her hands or her arm. Even her arms were smeared with the ingredients. A wide, full mouth was stretched in a warm welcoming smile, and her front top left tooth was just slightly crooked. She had a smattering of freckles across a pert nose. 

He'd spent hours trying to count those fairie kisses, a lifetime ago. 

Thick, long lashes framed wide gray eyes. Eyes that he'd last seen devoid of life and laughter, glazed in death. Eyes that now stared at him without recognition, but warmly nonetheless. 

"Priscilla?"


	2. Chapter 2

**_Approximately 15 Years Before the Curse._ **

 

 

The village was packed tightly with travelers, what with the gypsy caravan’s coming through for their faires. The tightly packed dirt streets were, thankfully, dry as the last rains had happened four days ago. Springtime was in the air, flowers were coming into bloom, and the skies were slowly turning clear. Kilney was a relatively medium sized village, under the so-called ‘protection’ of King George, so was rather poor in terms of money. But the people were somewhat happy and content with their day in, day out, humdrum lives. 

In a little bakery, just off of the main road, a young woman named Priscilla was kneading bread with strong, capable hands. She brushed her face with the inside of her wrist, dusting flour on her cheek as she worked, and the front of her apron was stained with all kinds of colors from baking all sorts of foods. 

The bakery had been in her family for years since her great-grandfather had opened the shop. Now, though, she was alone. Both her mother and father had died from illness during winter four years ago, leaving her to run the bakery on her own. 

Priscilla never complained, though. She knew she was lucky, especially in this village. But oh…sometimes she longed for more. For adventure, for excitement, for something more than the seemingly bland life within Kilney. 

After a few moments, the young woman turned to the ovens and used the hem of her thick apron to pull out the hot pans with loaves of bread baking in them. 

Suddenly, the back door of the kitchen burst open, and she screamed wildly in surprise, dropping the bread on the ground. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Came a male voice, and Priscilla put her hands on her thundering heart. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

“What are you doing in here?” She demanded, trying to catch her breath and sound imposing. “You can’t just burst in…here…” 

Priscilla trailed off as she finally looked at the man who’d burst into her kitchen. Tall, maybe 6ft 3in, which made him practically tower over her, with thick dark brown hair that fell into his eyes. Beautiful blue eyes that were sly with mischief and impish delight, she realized. He wore rather nice, thick brocade clothing, trimmed with fine laces and designs, and a silk scarf knotted around his throat, giving him the air of some kind of nobility. His skin was only a shade or two darker than her own, and when he smiled at her, she swore her knees trembled a little. Which only put her back up and made her more determined not to appear weak and helpless. 

“I just-“ He started before diving onto the floor as someone marched loudly past the back door of the kitchens. Realization hit her all at once. 

“You’re hiding from the Guard, aren’t you?” She asked curiously, glancing at the prone man on her floor and the door at the back of the kitchens. She put her hands on her hips and glowered at him, “What have you done?” 

“King George merely wants me to work for him, and once I refused to do so, he chased me out of the castle.” The man answered rushedly. 

Priscilla had heard of the cruelty of King George, and his unfair taxes within the village were definitely one of the banes of living there. Biting her lower lip gently, she shifted on her feet to consider her options. There was just nothing for it. 

She had to hide this man from the Guards. 

“Quickly, get up!” She hissed softly, bending down and trying to pick him up herself which was absurd but still she attempted it. 

“What – why-“ he stammered. 

“Take your coat and necktie off, quickly!” Priscilla raced to the other side of the kitchen and pulled down her father’s apron – the one she’d never had the heart to throw out after his death. “Roll your shirtsleeves up.” 

Surprisingly, as soon as she tugged the apron down from its peg on the wall, the stranger quickly caught on to what she was saying and stripped his coat and assortments off. When she handed the apron over, he handed her his belongings after hesitating only for a second. She hurriedly moved to an empty wicker basket that had once held old rags but now was bare and empty and tossed the man’s belongings into it, shutting the lid. 

“What now?” The man asked, looking wildly about. 

“Here,” Priscilla said, coming over to the worktable, patting her hands into the flour and dabbing a bit of the ingredient here and there on the man’s stunning face, just under his left eye, across his nose, down his chin and throat. She then took his hands in hers and smashed them into the fresh dough, and grinned when he yelped comically. 

“Get kneading. You’re my apprentice,” She said breathlessly as her heart began hammering in her throat. 

What was she doing? Harboring a fugitive in Kilney, just for defying King George? She must be out of her mind. 

“What’s your name?” She asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder and glancing at her ‘apprentice’ who was eyeing the mound of dough under his inexperienced hands dubiously. 

“Jefferson.” 

“…Your name is Joff and you’re my apprentice,” She said firmly, giving him a stern nod when he shot her a suspicious look. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked softly, staring at her. 

Priscilla paused in cleaning the spilled loaves of bread and pans that she’d dropped when he’d burst into the kitchen. After a moment, she raised her head and stood up straight. 

“Because you stood up for yourself against a King. That takes some kind of bravery-“ 

“Or stupidity.” He muttered, frowning at her. 

“Perhaps, but it’s still brave.” She replied with a shrug. 

Just then the front door of the shop opened and booted footsteps entered. Jefferson shot Priscilla a slightly panicked look, and when she passed him she patted his arm gently. 

“It will be alright,” She murmured to him, dipping her left hand in the flour and dashing it through Jefferson’s shaggy hair. “I’ll protect you.” 

She didn’t give him a chance to argue, instead, she just left the kitchens and walked into the main room of the shop, wiping her hands on her apron. Three of the Kings Guard stood in front of the counter, their eyes searching the premises restlessly and their hands on the hilt of their swords. 

“May I help you?” Priscilla asked sweetly, even as her palms began to sweat.

“We’re searching for a ruffian, he escaped justice from King George. Have you seen anyone?” Asked the Guard at the front of the pack, looking at her appraisingly. 

She pasted a slightly worried look on her face and shook her head. 

“No, sirs. I’ve not noticed anyone suspicious.” Priscilla said innocently, widening her eyes in concern. “Is he dangerous?” 

The Guard at the left behind the leader shifted on his feet, and Priscilla struggled not to shift backward in defense. He made her very nervous, especially when she had no idea who these men were. They were strangers to her and not the usual Kings Guard in the village. 

“Highly dangerous, miss. Would you be opposed to us searching the premises?” Asked the leader. 

“Help yourselves,” She said warmly, motioning with her hands to show the empty shop. 

“Are you here alone?” Asked the guard on the left, and Priscilla struggled not to stiffen at the sneering tone in his voice. 

“Just me and my apprentice,” Priscilla said cheerily instead. “Since my parents died four years ago it’s just been me. I thought that it might be good to find someone to take some of the responsibility off of my shoulders.” 

“A sound plan,” Said the leader, and she smiled winningly at him. 

“I hope so. It’s been nice to work with someone again, to pass down recipes that my father passed down to me.” 

The Guard on the right made a movement to go around the counter and she struggled not to make an involuntary noise. While she’d been welcoming and warm, she still was uncomfortable with them in her place of business. They made her nervous and uneasy, and she just wanted them out of the shop. 

“Check the kitchens,” The Leader of the group said and the guard on the left nodded curtly before following the order. 

When he passed her, he knocked his shoulder into her and she winced at the hard contact. Priscilla smiled warmly anyways at the leader of the group, hoping to portray someone innocent and warm, rather than the nervous wreck she felt like under her smile. 

“So you chased this vagabond all the way from the castle??” She asked curiously, folding her hands in front of her demurely. 

“We did,” Said the Leader, and she was relieved to see that he was actually rather polite for a Kings Guard. “We suspect that he’s hiding in the woods behind the village, but thought to check the businesses and homes just in case he was hiding there.” 

“Oh dear,” she murmured, raising a hand to touch her lips gently. “I hate to think of such a dangerous person lurking about. Will the Guard be more present in the village until he’s caught?” 

“Perhaps, but more than likely I’ll take my men to the next town over.” The Leader strode forward and gently put his gloved hands on Priscilla’s shoulders. “You will be well protected, even if we do not find him within the town or the woods. We take care of our people.” 

Priscilla took a steadying breath and smiled up at the taller man. 

“I feel reassured of my safety, then.” 

The Guard who had gone to the kitchens came back with a scowl on his face under his helmet. 

“Any sign of him, Dimmons?” The Leader said, taking his hands off of Priscilla’s shoulders after one final squeeze. 

“No, sir. Just the apprentice she was talking about.” Dimmons said mulishly. 

Slowly, so that it would be unnoticed, Priscilla let out a slow breath and smiled warmly at the Leader of the Guard, hoping she appeared harmless. Apparently, he bought the act, thanked her for her generosity when she gave them a few loaves of bread for on the road as they attempted to track the vagabond, and the three Kings Guards left. 

When the door shut behind them, Priscilla pressed her hand against her chest to still the thundering heart there and closed her eyes. 

“Well, aren’t you a surprise,” Came a drawling voice behind her, making her yelp and whip around. 

There stood Jefferson, with his arms crossed over his broad chest and leaning against the doorjamb with a considering look on his face. As she stared at him, he bit his lower lip in contemplation, and she denied that it made her calming heart leap again. 

Absolutely. Not. 

“I beg your pardon?” She asked, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Perhaps.” He said with a smile, running his fingers through his hair and dislodging some of the flour she’d put there. “But they bought it, which I am grateful for. I didn’t fancy the idea of spending the rest of my life in the dungeons.” 

“What exactly did King George want you to do??” She asked curiously, walking over to him and peering up into his face. 

Jefferson stared down at Priscilla, searching her face with those gorgeous blue eyes before shrugging slightly. 

“I’m a thief by trade. King George contacted me to steal a sword from a neighboring kingdom, a magical one that would grant its wielder immense power and prestige – not to mention it also has the ability to kill large amounts of people with just a swing.” 

“That’s…that’s terrible!” Priscilla gasped, her gray eyes wide in shock and horror. “But…why didn’t you steal it for him?” 

“I may be many things, Miss Baker, but I’m not a killer. A scoundrel, a thief, a man out of this world, but not a killer. In the end, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if King George made good on his plan to kill neighboring kingdoms for gold. The blood would be on my hands, not just his.” 

Jefferson reached out and tapped the edge of her nose. “Besides, there wasn’t nearly enough money involved.” 

Priscilla huffed and put her hands on her hips again, scowling up at him. 

“So because he didn’t offer you enough money you refused?” Priscilla said, pursing her lips. “That doesn’t say much about you.” 

“Scoundrel,” Jefferson sang over his shoulder as he walked away from her and back into the kitchens. 

“That’s hardly an excuse!” She crowed indignantly. 

“You’re right,” He said soothingly, reaching into the wicker basket for his belongings. “But in the end, I didn’t do it. Doesn’t that offer me some kind of leniency against your temper?” 

“I suppose.” Priscilla pouted out her answer, tapping her foot against the stone floors of the kitchen. “What are you going to do now?” 

“Now?” Jefferson said, taking off the apron and hanging it back on the peg where Priscilla had first gotten it, and shrugging into his long coat. “Now I’m going to go in the opposite direction as those Guards and get myself home. Plenty of other people want things stolen and I’m the man to do it.” 

“And stealing things makes you happy?” Priscilla asked curiously. 

Jefferson paused in the retying of his neck scarf and looked over at her. 

“It’s a living, a damned good one. So I can’t complain.” 

“Yes, but does it make you happy?” Priscilla asked again, more firmly as she stared at him. 

There was a flicker of something over that handsome face before he smiled it away. It was there and gone too quickly for her to discover what it had been though. 

“Not yet. But I’m confident it’ll work its magic.” 

Priscilla eyed him for a moment, before walking over to a shelf lined with loaves of bread and muffins. She took down two loaves of bread and four muffins, before walking over to him and offering them to him. 

“For me??” Jefferson said, and smiled slyly at her. “You shouldn’t have.” 

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have. But I can’t bear the thought of someone going hungry when I can prevent it.” Priscilla said primly and smiled when he chuckled. “Even a wastrel like you.” 

Jefferson took the offerings and tucked them in his satchel. After adjusting the satchel on his shoulder, he looked at Priscilla again and smiled. 

“Be seeing you,” he said as he walked towards the back door. 

“Perhaps with a little less excitement please??” She called back, “I could do without the heart palpitations next time.” 

“But there will be a next time,” Jefferson said, and then just before he reached the door, he turned to her. “What’s your name, anyway?” 

“Priscilla.” 

“Priscilla. I like it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**_Shortly After the Breaking of the Curse_ **

 

Aubrey Baker frowned at the man in front of her, folding her hands across her chest and attempting to scowl menacingly despite her short stature and demure appearance.

“No, Mister Mitchell, I’m afraid I’ve no interest in going on a date with you,” She enunciated carefully, trying to control her temper. “Please stop asking me.”

“Aww, c’mon Aubrey,” He cajoled, trying a winning smile – and failing at winning – and put his hand on the glass of the countertop. “Just dinner? We could go to Granny’s, then go back to my place…”

“Keith,” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “I’m really not interested in dating you. I’m too busy with the Bakery.”

“You say that, but you just need to get out there, loosen up a little. All you do is work, go home and go for a hike every now and again.” Keith tried again, before looking at her with a little concern on his face. “How’s your head by the way?”

“It’s fine, thank you for asking.” She murmured before sighing again. “Keith, I’m grateful for you getting me help when I needed it, but I’m really not interested.”

“Coffee?” He tried weakly again.

“I don’t drink coffee.” She replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Please-“

The bell on the handle of the front door rang cheerily as it was opened. A young girl stood there, a worried frown on her face. She wore the uniform for the private school up the road, run by the nuns, and her light auburn hair was in two neat pigtails on either side of her head. She had expressive gray eyes that were looking around the shop curiously.

Aubrey had never seen the girl in her entire life. But she was lovely.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” Aubrey asked, flicking a glance at Keith in frustration.

“I’ll come by and see you again later, Aubrey,” Keith said with what he thought was a charming smile but truly wasn’t.

The girl moved out of the way of the door for Keith to move. When the door shut behind him, the girl turned to look at Aubrey. She bit at her lower lip nervously, and Aubrey felt her heart tremble under compassion.

“My name’s Aubrey,” She said warmly, coming around from the other side of the counter to stand in front of the girl.

“I’m Grace,” the girl murmured shyly.

“That’s a pretty name,” Aubrey said, offering her hand for the girl to shake.

It was taken tentatively, and Grace’s gray eyes searched Aubrey’s face for a moment before coming to a decision.

“My Papa is missing,” Grace said softly, reaching into her open backpack and taking out a flyer. “Can I hang this in your Bakery?”

Aubrey’s heart hurt at the calm admission, and it broke for the sadness in the little girls' eyes.

“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Aubrey said, motioning for the flyer.

When Grace handed it over, Aubrey walked to her bulletin board, took an empty stick pin and pinned the flyer in place. On it was a hand-drawn picture of a young man with messy brown hair and blue eyes. Underneath was what Aubrey suspected were Grace’s phone number and other contact information. Turning to look at the little girl, Aubrey was struck by how miserable she looked.

“Hey,” Aubrey said, putting her hands on her knees and bending them in order to be eye to eye with Grace. “I just made some red velvet cupcakes. Would you be my taste tester so I know they’re good?”

“Red Velvet?” Grace asked hesitantly, but a happy light had entered her eyes nonetheless.

“Mmhm,” Aubrey said with a nod.

“Okay,” Grace said, rocking from side to side.

At that, Aubrey motioned for Grace to follow her as she moved back towards the kitchen. When they reached the large, industrial-sized kitchen with its four ovens and gas stoves, Grace looked around wildly in curiosity. Aubrey smiled warmly and reached for a cooling red velvet cupcake, and quickly frosted it with cream cheese frosting.

“Here you go, honey,” Aubrey said proudly, handing the treat over.

Grace took it delicately, her eyes lighting up with glee as she eyed the treat. Aubrey waited with a sort of baited breath as Grace took a bite of the cupcake.

“So. Does it pass muster??” Aubrey asked, smiling widely.

“It’s awesome!!” Grace chirped happily, giving a frosting covered smile over to Aubrey. “You made this?”

“I did, it’s a new recipe I found.”

“This is what you do?” Grace asked, taking another bite of the cupcake and looking around at the kitchen.

“It is. I love baking; it always reminds me of being home and something warm. My family has had this bakery for years,” Aubrey explained, leaning against the worktable behind her.

“That’s so cool!” Grace said, “Do they still work here?”

“Oh no, honey. My parents passed away a long time ago. I’ve been working here ever since I could legally work here.” Aubrey said softly.

“Oh…” Grace said, and after a moment, she took another bite of the cupcake. “My mama died a long time ago too.”

“So, are you staying somewhere while you’re looking for your papa?” Aubrey asked curiously.

“I am, I’m staying with the Blacks until I find my papa.”

“Have you been to the sheriff’s yet?” Aubrey asked.

“I did, but they’re really busy too. There’s lots of people at the office now, so I just left my name with Ruby.”

Aubrey nodded and watched the little girl for a moment.

“You wanna stop by here every now and again to talk to me?” Aubrey asked, smiling when Grace looked up at her in surprise. “I get bored here by myself, you see, and I’d like to have a friend around. Besides, my last taste tester got into trouble with the Sheriff for mischief so I need someone else to practice my new recipe’s on.”

“Really?” The little girl asked, licking the frosting off of her fingertips.

“Really.”

“What about Mr. Mitchell?” Grace asked, “Isn’t he your friend?”

“He’s my friend but he’s also very busy and doesn’t stop in except when he wants something. Nah, I need a girlfriend I think.” Aubrey said with a wink. “Besides, what I’ll do is every time someone comes into my shop, I’ll ask them if they’ve seen your papa. You come in every now and again and I can tell you what I’ve heard, and you can tell me about your search. I’m not above bribery, either.”

“Cupcakes?” Grace asked, her head cocking to the side.

“Sometimes cookies and brownies too,” Aubrey said with a laugh.

“Deal,” Grace said, holding her hand out for a shake.

Aubrey laughed again and put another cupcake in the girl’s palm.

“Deal.”


	4. Chapter 4

**_After the Curse Is Broken, Current Time_ **

Jefferson could literally feel the blood draining from his face as he stared at the stranger wearing his dead wife’s features. His breathing became short and panicked even when Grace called his name and shook his arm to get his attention.

“Priscilla…how-“

“I’m…sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else,” the woman said, her voice full of confusion. “My name is Aubrey. Aubrey Baker.”

“This is Aubrey, papa. She’s got the best-tasting cupcakes ever!”

Aubrey laughed, and it went through Jefferson like a spear – of heat, love, of hunger – at the familiar sound. Husky and free, Priscilla’s laugh had always been a delight to hear ringing through their home in the Enchanted Forest. Now, coming out of this stranger’s mouth, it was no different in its effect on him.

“Thank you for that, honey,” Aubrey said warmly to Grace, and they shared a secret smile with one another that Jefferson figured all women were taught from birth. “Did you want one? I made your favorite.”

“Iced Gingersnaps??” Grace asked in excitement, clapping her hands eagerly.

When Aubrey nodded, Grace squealed in delight and dashed away into the kitchens. Which left Jefferson alone with this woman. This strange ghost that had him choking on memories – of their first meeting, of their first adventure through the Hat, of Priscilla pregnant…of the many, many nights they’d lain together, limbs entwined…

“So…” Aubrey trailed off awkwardly, shifting on her feet behind the counter. “You’re Grace’s papa?”

“I…I…” Jefferson stammered before the blood rushed back into his cheeks in embarrassment for his complete lack of brain cells. “Yes…Yes, I am.”

“And you’ve been missing for…what, about a month now??” Prisc- Aubrey said, folding her arms over her apron covered chest and scowling in a horribly familiar way.

Uhoh.

“Right…” Jefferson said, scratching at the back of his neck bashfully. “I wasn’t in my right mind, I guess you could say.”

“She was very worried about you, you know,” Aubrey said, sternly. “She came in here almost every day asking if I’d heard anything from my customers. I finally had to begin bribing her to not cry by giving her more cookies.”

“And I bet that was just so difficult, being the cold-hearted diabolical madman that you are,” Jefferson said without thinking, before going pale again.

It would have been something he’d have said to Priscilla long ago, teasing her for her warm and fuzzy personality and for falling in love with a thief. He felt another blush stain his cheeks and watched in a little bit of awe as he realized Aubrey was blushing as well.

“That’s…that’s not the point,” Aubrey muttered, scowling a little more fiercely.

Oh ho, he recognized that look. This woman may have his wife’s face, but there was no doubt that she had the same mannerisms and fierce temper his wife had had. He was in for it now.

But just when she opened her mouth to let him have it, Grace came bursting out of the back kitchen, her face covered in icing and clutching two handfuls of cookies in her grip. Saved by Grace, Jefferson thought with relief.

“Try one, papa,” Grace said happily, thrusting one of the handfuls of cookies at him with a grin on her face. “They’re really good.”

“Better than mine?” Jefferson asked suspiciously, taking a cookie from Grace’s hand and lifting it to his nose to breathe in the scent of ginger and icing.

“Yup!”

“Traitor,” Jefferson said, squinting down at his daughter teasingly. “You’re just saying that because I burn everything I try to bake.”

“Also true,” Grace said helpfully.

With a put-upon sigh, Jefferson took a bite of the cookie and made an involuntary sound of delight at the flavor. As he swallowed, he wondered at the niggling of unease at the back of his mind. There was nothing wrong with the cookie, in fact, it was the best gingersnap cookie he’d had in-

Jefferson swallowed painfully at the realization that the last time he’d had an iced gingersnap cookie had been the last time Priscilla had made them. And they had tasted just as delicious as the cookie in his hand did now. Priscilla had perfected the recipe during their travels, knowing that it had been Jefferson’s favorite cookie as a child so long ago. Once she’d perfected it, she delighted in making them for him, having them on hand when they went portal jumping, or just to have around the house just in case.

Despite the burst of flavor that had hit his tongue at the first bite, it now tasted like ash in his mouth.

“Is something wrong?” Aubrey asked, a worried tone in her (haunting) voice. “Are they not to your liking?”

“No,” Jefferson said through numb lips. “They’re fine.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Aubrey said with a little laugh.

Luckily, Grace diverted the woman’s attention with talking about the past week, since it had been about that amount of time since they’d last seen each other. Jefferson stared at the woman in front of him, searching for something, anything, that could explain what was going on. Who was this woman? As far as he knew, Priscilla didn’t have a twin, so that couldn’t be the explanation. Jefferson could feel his grip on this reality slipping a little as he panicked, trying to think.

“If you’d like, I can stop by tomorrow and bring you a batch of cupcakes for your tea party,” Aubrey was saying to Grace.

“Maybe we can make them in our kitchen!” Grace cheered at the idea, “That way they’ll be fresh!”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, honey!” Aubrey said, before glancing at Jefferson warily. “If that’s alright with you?”

“What?” Jefferson blinked at Aubrey as if just waking up, and then looking at his daughter who had a decidedly superior smile on her face. “What happened now?”

“Miss Aubrey’s going to come over tomorrow to make cupcakes for our tea party, papa,” Grace said patiently, smiling happily at him. “Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah…” Jefferson trailed off before warming to the idea. “Yeah actually. That’d be great. In fact, why don’t we make a date of it all? Come over for the tea party and cupcakes, stay for dinner?”

“Oh,” Aubrey said hesitatingly. “I wouldn’t want to impose on your reunion.”

“No, that’d be awesome!!” Grace said, turning that million watt smile on Aubrey now. “We’re having a pot roast with potatoes!”

“And peas,” Jefferson added, much to his daughter’s distaste.

“How can I turn down peas?” Aubrey said with a wry smile, folding her arms across her chest and hiding a smile behind her hand – a hand that was smeared in frosting.

“So you’ll come?” Grace asked excitedly.

“I’d love to,” Aubrey said and laughed happily when Grace cheered.

“We’ll have tea at 2 o’clock, and dinner at five,” Jefferson said, and held his hand out to her.

She hesitated a moment, before putting her frosting smeared hand in his and shaking it. But the handshake was just a ruse. On Priscilla’s right hand, her dominant hand was a scar that ran along the inside of her palm. She’d gotten the wound on one of their adventures realm jumping. And when Jefferson folded his long fingers around her hand, he felt the smooth ridge of that scar on her palm.

It was Priscilla. But he’d held Priscilla’s cold, dead body in his arms, sobbing over it in agony at the realization that she’d sacrificed herself to defend their daughter. How was this possible??


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible person and didn't post last Friday's chapter - I've had a terrible mental health week and it completely slipped my mind. In recompense - I'm posting 2 chapters tonight for you. Chapter Five and Chapter Six. Chapter Seven will be posted on Friday, August 10th.

_Approximately 15 Years Before The Curse_

 

There were no candles or lanterns lit when Jefferson walked up to the bakery – going by his estimation, it was roughly a few weeks after he’d last seen Priscilla. The realm jumper figured it was safe to go see the woman who’d saved his hide. He didn’t know what the emotion was that lit up in his chest when he thought of the spirited baker, but he wasn’t certain he liked it. He didn’t like the feeling of owing the girl for saving him from the Kings Guards, but at the same time he wanted to see her again anyways.

It wasn’t often that someone was so giving to a stranger, especially a stranger like him. Particularly a self-professed thief. But she’d barely hesitated in covering him with the apron and flour, and hadn’t hesitated for a second to give him bread and muffins for the trip back to his home. A bleeding heart, to be sure, but one he didn’t feel like exploiting.

At the moment, anyway.

Dodging into the shadows, Jefferson moved to the back of the bakery before jimmying the lock open. Quietly, he snuck into the bakery, shut the door behind him and made his way to the doorway that he’d spotted a set of stairs the last time he was there. He assumed that the stairs led upstairs to her home, but he could be wrong.

Either way it was a chance he’d take.

He silently made his way up the stairs and found himself in a small sitting room. The downstairs – the main area of the shop and kitchen – was large, and it was reasonable to assume that the living quarters upstairs would be just as large so he was taken back a bit at the smallness of the room. There was a wooden table with two chairs against the far wall, and a small armchair in front of a small window looking out. Walking quietly through the sitting room, Jefferson glanced into the room to his left and found a small bed with a red quilt and one pillow on it. A guest room perhaps, he thought with a small smile and shake of his head.

As he turned to go a little further down the hallway, he yelled and fell backwards onto the floor as he dodged what looked like a rolling pin being swung at his head.

“What the-!!!” He yelped from the floor, staring up at a pin wielding Priscilla, who was pointing the end of the rolling pin at him threateningly.

“J…Jefferson?” She asked, and Jefferson could see the frown on her face from the light of the moon streaming through that small window over her shoulder.

She was wearing a long, pale blue nightgown with dove gray ribbons along the neckline, wrists and bottom hem. Her hair was in a cloud of waves around her head, and the moonlight gave it a halo appearance. Her eyes were wide in surprise and her full mouth was dropped open as she looked at him.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, waggling the rolling pin at him with surprising menace.

Jefferson immediately put his hands up in defense, even from his vulnerable position on the floor. She looked rather intimidating waving that rolling pin as her weapon of choice. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were enchanted, going by the tastiness of her breads and muffins.

“I was just…checking to make sure you were alright,” Jefferson said haltingly, lifting his chin when the handle of the rolling pin got closer to his face. “I didn’t want those Guards coming back and causing problems for protecting me.”

“So…” Priscilla trailed off suspiciously, squinting at him in the dark, “Let’s see if I get this right. You broke into my home, uninvited, without permission…because you were concerned about me?”

“No!” Jefferson yelped indignantly and recoiled when a sly smile crossed Priscilla’s face, shifting uneasily. “Concern is too strong a word, petal. More like mildly troubled.”

“Hmph,” Priscilla huffed, and put the rolling pin up against her shoulder, cocking her hip out to the side. “You could have come into the shop like a normal person, you know.”

“What kind of impression did I leave on you that you think I’m normal?” Jefferson groaned out as he climbed to his feet.

“Point taken,” Priscilla said with a wide smile.

She was so much shorter than he was, Jefferson realized with a start. Her personality was warm and loving, but she was so tiny and yet fierce. Perhaps he was still a bit in awe of her protecting a perfect stranger after two minutes of contact, but she seemed larger than life to him. Jefferson was struggling against a weight within him, and fought to gain more ground.

“You know I can see the outline of your body through your nightgown,” Jefferson said saucily, reaching out to touch the gray ribbon at her neckline.

And felt the stinging in his cheek as she slapped him. His eyes went huge in shock and surprise, and he raised a hand to the pain as he stared at her with no little amount of awe.

“I may be a simple baker, you scoundrel, but I am a lady first and foremost,” Priscilla snapped at him, waggling the rolling pin at him again threateningly. “Cast such aspersions on me again, and you’ll be drinking my cupcakes in liquid form.”

If possible, Jefferson felt his eyes grow wider, and felt his heart lurch in his chest. When he nodded numbly at her, she nodded firmly in reply and took a step away from him.

“I can take care of myself, against you, or against the Kings Guard,” Priscilla said, and he believed it without a doubt.

“I believe it,” Jefferson murmured, his hand still pressed against his cheek as if to ease the sting there by touch.

“Good. Now,” Priscilla said, putting her free hand on her hip. “You could have simply stopped into the shop, or written me; you could have done any number of things. Breaking into my home doesn’t lend you a lot of points in your favor. Why else are you here, other than assuring yourself of my continued wellbeing?”

Jefferson simply stood there, staring at her – this strange woman who had shielded him from capture from King George, lied point blank to the intimidating Kings Guard, fed said intimidating guards, fed a self-proclaimed thief, and confronted intruders wielding a mighty rolling pin. He was a portal jumper, a realm hopper, a thief and procurer of magical and rare items for powerful people. He knew he was dangerous, he knew that he was deadly and could be frightening. But this little slip of a woman stood up to him, demanded her respect and he found himself inexplicably drawn to her.

“I just-“ He started and paused, looking away from her searching eyes.

“You just what, Joff?” Priscilla asked, her voice understanding and welcoming.

Jefferson’s lips twitched in a weak simile of a smile at the ‘name’ she’d given him as his cover. Folding his arms defensively over his chest, he hung his head and then looked at her through his lashes.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Jefferson murmured, feeling heat enter his cheekbones at her smile. “The Guards didn’t come back, did they?”

“No, they moved on that night. They didn’t even stay at the inn in town,” Priscilla replied. “No one saw you, and no one knows you were here. No one else found out that I told the Guard that I had an apprentice, and if they do ask, I’ll tell them that you didn’t measure up to my standards.”

“Is that right?” Jefferson drawled.

“You couldn’t even knead dough, Joff,” Priscilla drawled back mockingly. “I’m afraid that being a baker is just not in your cards.”

“I suppose that just means I’ll need to come here to get my breads and muffins.”

“Don’t forget about my cupcakes,” Priscilla warned, tipping her head to the side and smiling.

“I would never,” Jefferson said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest in mocking shock. “Perhaps one day I’ll be blessed in tasting your baking prowess.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps we’ll be visiting that liquid diet I was mentioning earlier,” Priscilla threatened, cocking an eyebrow at Jefferson.

“Let’s not visit that topic again, please.”

“At your leisure. Can I go back to bed now? I’ve to get up early for the bread run for the gypsies.”

“You’re baking bread for the gypsies?” Jefferson asked in surprise, leaning his shoulder against the wall to his left.

“I am,” the baker said a little defensively.

“Why?” Jefferson asked incredulously. “Are they paying for the bread?”

“No, they’re not,” Priscilla said flatly. “King George may raise our taxes to fill his coffers, and other villages may go hungry, but I couldn’t live with myself if someone is going hungry in my village.”

Jefferson observed this strange creature in front of him, unable to understand that kind of giving attitude for others. She was going out of her way, in his opinion, for people who wouldn’t be able to return the favor, for complete strangers even. He was always looking out for himself, making sure that anything he was doing would benefit himself to the max. Turning down the job for King George had been a fluke.

One that he was secretly glad for.

“How have you survived in the world without being taken advantage of?” He wondered aloud.

“Most people in this village wouldn’t bite the hand that feeds them,” Priscilla shrugged slightly, her face coloring slightly.

They were silent for a moment, simply staring at one another in quiet contemplation. Jefferson took a breath and straightened up from his leaning position.

“I’m…glad you’re okay,” Jefferson said haltingly.

“I’m glad you came to see me. I was worried about you,” Priscilla admitted freely which made him uneasy and flustered for some reason.

“I’m fine,” Jefferson said grudgingly. “Well. Next time just come in like a regular person. I don’t like entertaining company in my night clothes,” Priscilla admonished.

“I will,” Jefferson said without thinking, and then frowned at himself for saying it.

“You’ll see yourself out then?” Priscilla said, stifling a nod with her free hand.

When Jefferson nodded, Priscilla turned on her bare feet and started down the hallway to what he assumed was the master bedroom. She halted at the doorway to a room and looked over her shoulder.

“Come back any time, Jefferson,” Priscilla said softly. “Maybe you can tell me stories of your adventures.”

Jefferson hesitated for a moment, before nodding his head. When she smiled at him, he looked off to the side self-consciously. When he looked up again, she was gone, and the door she’d entered through was shut. Without much else to do other than stalk around her living quarters like some kind of pining villain, Jefferson turned and went downstairs. He paused near a shelf that was close to the front of the kitchen. There, were displayed cupcakes, brownies, and cookies. Looking around furtively, Jefferson snagged himself a cupcake and took a bite of it as he walked out the back door.

Dammit. Even her cupcakes were enthralling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible person and didn't post last Friday's chapter - I've had a terrible mental health week and it completely slipped my mind. In recompense - I'm posting 2 chapters tonight for you. Chapter Five and Chapter Six. Chapter Seven will be posted on Friday, August 10th.
> 
> If you reading this note on 8-7-18 PLEASE go back a chapter! You might have missed Chapter Five!
> 
> **Trigger Warning**
> 
> Mentions of a miscarriage, suicidal ideology, and the stages of mourning.

_After the Curse Is Broken, Current Time_

 

 

Arriving back at the manor house that Regina had ‘gifted’ to Jefferson, tormenting him with 28 years of watching his precious daughter living and loving complete strangers as her family, was always a bit bittersweet. For so long he’d sequestered himself within those walls, madness battering at his mind like a moth lighting on a flame. The torture and loneliness and aching grief he experienced within the house always threatened to suck him under.

Even now, after Grace was at his side. A long time ago, Jefferson had made a room up for his daughter, and it had been rigorously cleaned every week – a torture in its own right because he despaired of ever having his daughter living there with him.

It was rather surreal having Grace in the house with him, living in the room he’d created for her.

“Papa, what’s wrong?” Grace asked in concern, looking up at him as they entered the foyer of the house.

He smiled weakly down at his daughter and shook his head slightly.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jefferson said, running a hand down her hair and then shrugging out of his coat.

“Alright, Papa,” Grace said trustingly, hanging up her coat and hat on the pegs designated for that purpose.

“Did you like Miss Aubrey?”

Jefferson swallowed deeply and nodded his head without looking at his daughter.

“I did. She seems very nice, and I’m glad you had a friend when you were looking for me.”

“She’s very pretty, too,” Grace said slyly, but with an innocent smile on her face when he glanced at her.

“Get outta here, you monster,” He teased, shooing her away.

When she practically cackled and danced away, he rubbed his forehead in wry amusement. Grace was a devious mix of both Priscilla and Jefferson; while Jefferson had been a scoundrel and mischievous, Priscilla had had a wicked sense of humor, and deviously sharp. He could admit, that on their adventures realm hopping, that Priscilla had saved his hide more than once with her sharp mind and quick instincts.

Making his way to the large kitchen – a kitchen he had rarely stepped into during his tenure within these walls – he sighed and paused in the doorway. The kitchen had been Regina’s way of constantly reminding Jefferson what he’d lost with Priscilla’s death. If Priscilla had lived, it would have been her dream kitchen with beautiful granite countertops, large, spacious cabinets with gentle close hinges in a beautiful walnut color. Twin convection ovens in stainless steel, gas stove top on the center island with butcher block counters next to it, and a wide French door refrigerator, it always struck something within him to enter the kitchen and realize just how alone he’d been for years. No family filled the rooms, no one to eat his meals with, no one to share his bed, no one to share his life.

Regina had planned her prison exquisitely.

But now, now that he entered the grand kitchen, he pictured Aubrey padding barefoot on the floor, baking her cupcakes or breakfast, or dinner, an apron around her waist to protect her skirts. Grace would be darting and weaving around her, chattering away about her day at school or a book she’d read. And he’d be standing in the doorway, beautifully content with the picture his life would be.

But Aubrey – who he was certain was Priscilla back in the Enchanted Forest but was still unable to shake the fog of disbelief and confusion – was a stranger in his wife’s face. She apparently had no memory of Jefferson, which if she had been Priscilla before the curse was cast there’d have been no way to mistake him for anyone else. Priscilla had died protecting Grace as an infant, and so there wouldn’t have been any kind of recognition when confronted with a curseless Grace in her bakery. Priscilla had had no idea of the beautiful little girl that Grace had turned out to be, and every day raising her had been an exercise in grief at that knowledge.

Priscilla had been looking forward to being a mother, so very much. It had taken years to conceive a child and Priscilla had been ecstatic to be pregnant. At first, Jefferson had been wary of being a father, but Priscilla had had every confidence in his ability to be a good parent. So they had slowed down on their adventures after discovering Priscilla was pregnant, he’d taken fewer jobs that would put him in mortal peril, and they’d moved into a small cottage away from the world at large to simply be themselves.

They'd lost their son mere months after his birth. He'd almost lost his wife to her grief - he himself had barely held it together. Grace had quite literally been their saving grace when Priscilla had become pregnant. They still mourned their son, but Priscilla was meant to be a mother. They'd settled into parenthood and had loved every moment of it. No one had known of Grace's existence - mostly because of Jefferson's profession but also because Priscilla hadn't wanted those not trusted to know of her birth until she'd passed her year birthday.

They’d been on their way to their happily ever after.

And then Priscilla had died.

Jefferson looked down at his hands, still picturing the stain of her blood on them, the slickness of it, feeling the dead weight of her body in his arms as he cradled her lifeless form to him and wept. Sometimes, when the memories grew too strong to be reckoned with, he scrubbed his hands to wash the imagined bloodstain away so viciously that his hands were scalded for days afterward. Other than leaving Grace behind, it was the worst memory of his long life.

When the doorbell rang, Jefferson reflexively clenched his hands shut and turned towards the door. Opening it, Jefferson blinked at his guest in shock. Thick, curly black hair fell down to a trim, neat waist, held back away from a stunningly beautiful face by a purple handkerchief. She was tall, with beautiful cocoa colored skin and stunning turquoise eyes. She had a lush, wide mouth that he knew was as quick to sneer as it was to smile. She was dressed in a simple pair of skinny jeans, a loose green peasant top and a pair of blue converse sneakers.

“Hello Jefferson,” She greeted coolly, folding her arms over her chest.

“Esmerelda…” He drawled, not willing to show the surprise he felt at seeing the gypsy on his doorstep. “It’s Esme, please.”

“Not reverting back to your full Enchanted Forest name, then?”

“I just prefer Esme. That Woman named me Allison when she cast the curse,” those shockingly vibrant eyes rolled in her disdain for the name “The least she could have done was come up with a better name for half of us.”

“I suppose.” Jefferson allowed, and then opened the door wider for the woman to enter the manor. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit??”

“I saw you go into the bakery,” Esme said flatly, leveling him with an unimpressed look. “It certainly took you long enough to find her.”

Anger quickly lept into his throat and he scowled at her.

“As far as I was aware, she was dead.” He snapped back.

Esme stared at him coolly, cocking an eyebrow at him. “If you’ll remember, I was already within the Evil Queen’s dungeons by the time Grace was born.” She replied. “Aiding and abetting a fugitive of the law, or so they said.”

“More likely the only time you got caught aiding and abetting a fugitive of the law,” Jefferson said, and they shared a commiserating smile between the two of them.

While not the greatest of friends, Esmerelda and Jefferson were two peas in a thieving pod. It had been Priscilla who had been best friends with the gypsy for years and in doing so Jefferson and Esmerelda had come into close contact often and traded snarky barbs with one another.

“I suppose I can give you leniency for thinking that she was dead,” Esme said, motioning with her hand as if to erase the tension between them. “I’m sure the Queen certainly made it look that way.”

“I held her cooling, dead body in my arms, Esme,” Jefferson said flatly over his shoulder as he led the way to the living room where he’d gagged and bound Emma in. “She’d hidden Grace in a cupboard, and died shielding it.”

There was silence between them as Esme sat down on the couch opposite from him, crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knee.

After a moment, she nodded. “So you raised Grace by yourself for eleven years,” Esme said softly. “That must have been difficult.”

“It was painful, seeing so much of her mother within her personality, knowing that she would never know the brave, amazing woman Priscilla was, how much she’d wanted to be a mother.” Jefferson allowed, sprawling back onto the cushions of the couch. “But Grace is amazingly resilient. She adapted well and I did my best to make certain she wanted for nothing.”

After a moment, Jefferson confessed, “It was how Regina managed to convince me to do one last job for her, and then she betrayed me.”

“Ahh, yes,” Esme murmured, “The Mad Hatter.”

He gave a mocking little nod in her direction.

“At your leisure.”

Esme chuckled.

“How is it that Aubrey has no memory of being Priscilla?” Jefferson wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Esme replied, frustration evident in her tone. “When I reunited with my family and friends, I went to the Bakery to see her. It had only been a few days since the curse was broken, so I went while the memory of her was still fresh and real in my mind. But when I opened the door she called me’ Allison’ and I knew that somehow, the curse hadn’t been broken for her.”

“I don’t understand how that’s possible,” Jefferson admitted, his hands clenching reflexively at the thought that his wife hadn’t been freed from the curse. “Everyone affected by the curse that lived in Storybrooke got their Enchanted Forest memories back. The fact that she was brought here suggests that she was alive when the curse was enacted, which means that the curse affected her memories.”

“Unfortunately, I think we’re the only two people in Storybrooke who’s had enough of a past with Priscilla so as to recognize her,” Esme intoned regretfully. “Despite your adventures with the hat.”

“I don’t think Regina brought over anyone else from Wonderland,” Jefferson said softly in contemplation. “Certainly, I’ve not seen anyone from Camelot, nor from Narnia. But then, to be honest I wasn’t concerned about them.”

“You focused your attention on Grace,” Esme said simply, with a nod. “That’s understandable.”

“You know she named you Godmother when Grace was born,” Jefferson told her quietly, his voice aching with grief.

Esme’s brilliant eyes grew watery and her lips trembled slightly before firming in a straight line. “We’re going to get her back, Jefferson. Priscilla deserves it, especially after …how you two were separated.” Esme quickly dashed her fingertips under her eyes, trying to get rid of any moisture that might have accumulated there from her tears.

“Is it wrong of me, to have been content with my happily ever after with Grace, and then be so far from it when I saw Priscilla again??” Jefferson asked, frowning in worry.

“No,” Esme said with a shake of her head. “I don’t believe so. But I don’t think this is going to be a case of ' _happily ever after'_.”

“Then what is it going to be??” Jefferson asked in frustration. “Don’t we deserve that? Aren’t we owed that after everything we’ve gone through??”

“You misunderstand me, Jefferson,” Esme said soothingly. “I don’t think this is a case of ‘ _happily ever after_ ’. It’s going to be a case of ' _happily after all_ ’.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - violence and blood. Fire and property damage. Racial slurs used. 
> 
> You’ve been warned!!

Approximately 15 Years Before The Curse  
Two weeks after Jefferson’s last visit

 

There was a growing crowd in the center of the village square. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a sound coming from the villagers, however. No, all of the sound was coming from the royal retinue that stood in the direct center of the square, as they glowered imperiously down their noses at the poor villagers. Even the visiting “gypsies” had been brought into the village for whatever royal spectacle was going to happen. The Rroma, recognizing a dangerous undertone in everyone’s emotions, shifted nervously near the back of the crowds, trying to stay as unobtrusive as possible.

“Is that everyone?” King George asked from his horse, looking towards his steward with barely veiled impatience.

“Yes, your majesty.”

King George, resplendent in his royal attire and with the heavy, gold crown on his head nodded firmly and sat back on his horse.

“Bring out the woman.”

The Kings Guard Captain nodded, bowing at the waist, before motioning to his men to enter a shop in front of them. They kicked down the door with a crash and rushed inside the building. Shortly afterward, they returned, dragging a petite woman with light auburn hair and covered in flour out of the building and threw her on the dirt ground in front of the king. The Rroma immediately tensed up in fear. This was the baker that had been delivering bread to their encampment just outside of the village. She was a kind, warm person with a giving heart. 

She wasn’t going to be punished for feeding them, was she??

“Your name,” the king’s steward demanded arrogantly.

“P…Priscilla, milord,” said the baker, not getting up from her hands and knees from the ground, nor raising her head.

“Some time ago, you had a late night visitor…a thief, in fact. It was said that you aided him and let him go free, rather than report him to the Kings Guard,” The king’s steward sneered. “For that you have been charged with aiding and abetting a criminal of the crown. What have you to say for this charge?”

“I do not know what you are referring to, milord,” Priscilla said, her tone betraying her fear nonetheless. “I abetted no criminal.”

“You were also seen feeding the group of gypsies,” The king’s stewards voice practically dripped with disdain, “On the edge of the village, who could also be classified as criminals. So that, too, is a lie.”

Immediately, the Rroma’s unease sharpened. While it was true that they could be labeled as criminals and thieves, they had their own codes of honor. This woman had been granted protection from any and all of the Walking People she came across now, and in the future. She had opened her heart to their plight and sought to help them. And now, it appeared, she was to be punished for that kindness.

“I have abetted no criminals, milord. I was just-“

“We do not need to hear your pathetic excuses, woman,” King George sneered in disgust. 

“Your accuser was perfectly clear. The punishment for this offense is ten lashes and property seizure. Captain,” The king’s steward motioned commandingly.

The crowd immediately tried to defend the woman, and pushed forward as if to fight against the guards but they were pushed back by the point of swords and arrows. Two of the Kings Guard moved forward, picked the woman up off the ground by her arms and pulled her over to a nearby hitching post. There, they tied her hands to it, which pulled her shoulders inward and exposed as much of her back as possible.

Even at the back of the crowd, people could see the trembling of her limbs, her hair practically waving in the air with each panted breath. The Rroma gathered watched with surprise as she didn’t fight, she didn’t say anything; she didn’t do anything other than clench her hands tightly together in front of her. Even as the crowd had been pushed back, they were pleading with the king for his mercy on her. She was much beloved in the village, with its people. Her kindness was felt by just about everyone.

A masked, cowled man came to stand some distance behind her, carrying a whip loosely in his hands. Raising it high, he flicked it out, catching the baker high up on the back. Her cry was drowned out by the crowd’s, by the children’s tears as they sobbed, not understanding what was going on. Her body arched away from the hit, though, and a few of the ‘criminal gypsies’ winced in sympathy, having known that kind of pain once or twice in their lives.

Again, and again the whip fell, and gradually the crowd fell silent, and the only sound from the baker was a choked off scream when each blow landed. By the time the punishment was complete, the back of her dress was in tatters, and blood wept opening from the lash marks on her pale skin. When the punisher stepped back, lacing up his whip emotionlessly, she had collapsed on her knees, her arms and hands held awkwardly tied up above her head on the hitching post.

“Let her punishment stand as a reminder – do not think to betray your King his royal edicts. If anyone is to see any criminal wanted for apprehension, and not turn to the proper authorities, your precious baker’s punishment will look like a holiday in comparison,” King George intoned indifferently.

“Burn it,” said the king’s steward.

Everyone gathered in the village square watched in horror as the Kings Guard brought burning torches into the bakery, and came out empty handed. Now, the baker cried and sobbed, watching as her business and home slowly caught flame and began burning earnestly. King George and his retinue didn’t stand around much longer. They turned their horses away and left the village, content that their message had been heard and would be adhered to.

As the bakery went up in flames, many of the villagers waited around, milling about trying to figure out the right thing to do for the defeated baker who sat on her knees – still bound to the hitching post – and watched her livelihood burn. Finally, the villagers dispersed, going back into their homes and trying to pretend that they weren’t shooting pitying glances at the forlorn figure knelt in the dirt. When the final child had been dragged back to their home crying, the Walking People made their move.

They rushed forward as one, murmuring gently to the baker who’d fed them, who defended them. A tall, curvaceous woman strode forward, drawing a dagger from her hip and sliced through the thick robes binding the baker to the hitching post. When the young woman collapsed on her hands and knees, unable to take her eyes off of the burning building in front of her, the woman who’d freed her knelt down in front of her.

“Come with me, brave little warrior,” she murmured, reaching forward and wiping the tears away from Priscilla’s face. “We’ll take care of you now.”

“What am I to do now?” The baker wept, her glazed eyes meeting the woman in front of her. “This…this was my whole life…”

“You’ll find your place in this new world,” she replied gently, wiping away more tears. “And we’ll help you find it.”

“You don’t even know me…”

“But we know your heart.”

The baker stared at the other for a long, silent moment, before taking a shuddering breath.

“My name is Priscilla,” she said in a trembling, watery voice.

“I know,” the woman who freed her said with a wide smile. “My name is Esmerelda.”

 

~<@>~

Three Days Later

 

The charred remains of the bakery met his horrified eyes when Jefferson arrived within Kilney again. He had been working on a project given to him by Rumplestiltskin, making overtures just outside Camelot about a chalice that Rumplestiltskin had an interest in. This had been the first free moment he’d had to come and see Priscilla. His heart thundered in his chest at the wreckage, his blue eyes wide. The last time he’d seen this building, it had been standing, and full of breads and muffins, of life and the larger than life presence of Priscilla.

Before he could think on these facts, Jefferson had to dodge behind a hay bale to avoid detection from a patrolling guard. After they passed, Jefferson peaked out from the other side of the hay bale, trying to understand what had happened in the almost month he’d been gone.

“Psst!!”

Jefferson just didn’t understand it. She’d said she was safe, but this obviously told a different story. Was she still alive? Oh god, he hoped she was alive. He still owed her, Jefferson reasoned with himself, he owed her his life and he hadn’t repaid it yet.

“Psst!!”

“What?!” Jefferson snapped at the voice hissing at him from behind.

There stood a young woman, who visibly recoiled when he snapped at her. She couldn’t have been more than 12 or 13, with pale blonde hair and brown eyes. She was dressed in a simple blue dress with a brown shawl and her hair was loose around her like a cloud.

“I’m sorry,” Jefferson apologized softly, bowing at the waist to her. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you looking for Priscilla?” The young girl asked.

“I am,” Jefferson said with a nod, motioning behind him with a nerveless hand. “What happened here?”

“You don’t have much time,” The girl answered instead. “They’re going to be leaving in the morning!”

“Who is?”

“The gypsies!” The little girl said with a little hop in her step.

“Priscilla’s with the gypsies??” Jefferson asked in confusion.

“They took her in after the bakery burned down,” the girl replied, impatiently. “They’re leaving though, tomorrow morning. They’re just south of the village, in the glade by the lake.”

“Thank you,” Jefferson said gratefully, bowing at her again and sneaking out of the village like a shadow.

He reached the glade the girl was talking about without being spotted by the Kings Guard or any other villagers. Just outside of the ring of tents and wagons, stood two rather large intimidating men on watch. If Priscilla was with the gypsies, then she was somewhere within this camp. Which meant that they must be allies in some way. There was nothing for it, not when he wanted to check on Priscilla.

Jefferson pulled down on the bottom hem of his jacket, adjusted his neck scarf and simply walked up to the two watchmen.

“Who’re you?” Said the guard on the right, a rather large beastie with a bright red Mohawk and a long, thin red braided beard.

“Name’s not important. I’m here to see Priscilla.”

“Priscilla?” Asked the guard on the left, a slightly shorter, but no less physically intimidating man with long black hair and startling golden eyes. “What do you want with her?”

“Yeah, she’s ours now.” Said the first guard.

“Uhh…” Jefferson flicked his eyes back and forth between the two monstrosities, holding up his index finger in the universal ‘one moment’ gesture. “Beg to differ. I’m pretty certain she belongs to herself. And if you told her that she belongs to you, I hope you like your face meeting her rolling pin.”

“It’s alright, Hugo, Victor.” Came a husky female voice behind the two guards. “I’ve been waiting for him.”

“Esmerelda,” Both hulks intoned and moved aside, unblocking the entrance of the camp.

There stood a beautiful woman with long, curly black hair and beautiful cocoa colored skin. She wore a simple white dress with a purple shawl tied around her waist, and had the most intense turquoise colored eyes Jefferson had ever seen. She was tall, but had dangerous curves, and judging by the look she was now giving him, she noticed him noticing her curves. He tossed her an impish grin nonetheless.

“I expected you a few days ago, to be honest” the woman – Esmerelda – said, giving him a rather cool look. “She said you might come looking for her.”

“I did say I was coming back,” Jefferson said rather saucily.

“I told her not to hold her breath.”

“I’m cut to the quick,” Jefferson said dryly.

“You surprise me, thief,” Esmerelda drawled. “I figured you would be in the wind once she covered for you.”

“I pay my debts,” Jefferson snapped irritably, unreasonably slighted by the comment.

“It’s going to take a lot from you to pay this debt off, thief.”

Jefferson paused, tilting his head slightly and squinting at the gypsy leader suspiciously.

“What do you mean??”

Esmerelda gave him a cool once over, before jerking her head to the side a little impatiently.

“Follow me,” She said, turning on her bare foot, and walking in the opposite direction.

Jefferson followed silently, noting mildly that this particular group of gypsies was rather small and tame in comparison to some of the others he’d seen and worked with. They were a well-functioning unit, he observed absently, watching a group of young children sitting on the ground in front of an old crone who was speaking to them about a family legend. There was a group of weavers on his left, teaching a young woman their skills, and a skinner slowly watching the progress of his young apprentice.

Esmerelda turned sharply to the right, towards a small covered wagon. Jefferson frowned at the motion, following quietly. An uneasy emotion was dancing about in his belly, making him want to squirm and look about wildly for the spitfire baker. So to combat it, he simply kept his eyes trained on Esmerelda as she opened the back of the wagon and turned to look at him.

“She’s inside,” Esmerelda said, crossing her arms over her chest again, “She’s just had her bandages taken off, and her pain tonic, so she might be a bit fuzzy up in her tower.”

“Bandages?” Jefferson asked, startled into motion. “Pain tonic??”

The realm jumper darted forward and climbed into the back of the wagon. When he looked up, he froze at the sight. Priscilla was lying on her stomach, with the back of her dress cut away to expose the slender line of her back. But even with the material cut away, Jefferson could see that blood stained the material along her neck and sides, as well as her lower back. Seven – no, ten - great gashes were laid upon her pale flesh, scabbed over but still looking raw, with the edges of the gashes bright red with inflammation.

“Petal, what happened??” Jefferson gasped, coming to kneel beside her head and taking her hand in his.

Gray eyes opened and were a bit foggy as she stared up at him.

“Jefferson…” She said with a soft smile on her face. “You came back.”

“I did say I was coming back,” Jefferson said a little defensively, a much different tone than when he’d said the words previously.

“So you did,” Priscilla murmured with what sounded like amusement in her voice.

“Now who did this to you,” Jefferson said, rubbing his thumb across an abrasion on the inside of the bakers wrist. Pulling her hand and wrist up to eye level, Jefferson hissed at the marks he found there. “Are these from rope??”

“They were tied,” Priscilla said simply, that warm and slightly sleepy smile still on her face – and doing strange things to his gut. “I tried not to pull, but I couldn’t help it.”

“Why were your hands tied? What happened?” Jefferson asked, but not of Priscilla.

Instead he directed the last question to Esmerelda who was staring at the inside of the wagon and smothering a smile on her face with her hand. At the question, however, the smile fell off her lips.

“Three days ago, we were corralled into the village square. King George had arrived with his men and his Guard. They apprehended Priscilla, tied her to a hitching post, flogged her, and burnt her bakery to the ground.” Esmerelda explained.

“But…why??” Jefferson asked, his heart in his throat, even as his eyes lit up with unholy fire at the simplistic images Esmerelda was painting for him.

“She was accused to aiding and abetting a criminal of the crown,” Esmerelda said, and Jefferson looked over at the woman, seeing a matching fire burning within her intense eyes. “It seemed you were seen leaving her bakery in the wee hours of the night, and they told the Guard. Then she’d been giving bread to us. So we are both to blame for Priscilla’s plight.”

“So are you going to stay with the gypsies??” Jefferson asked, looking down at Priscilla.

“They prefer being called Rroma or the Walking People…gypsies is a slur.” Priscilla’s voice, while faint and sleepy, was still stern and forceful and she gave him such a look.

“She can stay with us as long as she pleases,” Esmerelda said warmly.

Jefferson felt a sharp sensation in his throat, and realized with a mental start that he was struggling with the impulse to storm out of the wagon and making King George pay for this. Priscilla had been an innocent in all of this. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

He realized with an uncomfortable sensation in the vicinity of his chest, that if Priscilla hadn’t protected him in the first place, he might not feel so indebted to her and thus, not feel the intense sensation of injustice about this situation. Jefferson knew that he was a scoundrel, and his profession lent him a bit of a blasé attitude concerning others (and their property). But in all of his travels, in all of his adventures, not one person had taken the time to harbor him. He’d taken advantage of people’s inattention, certainly, but no one had gone out of their way to protect him and treat him like a human. People took one look at him and turned the other way, or hid their belongings.

Because she had helped him evade King George’s men, Priscilla had been injured, and her home had been destroyed. Guilt weighed heavily on his chest, and he hated it. He was a master thief, a realm jumper, one of a kind. He shouldn’t be dragged down by such emotions as guilt or the feeling of responsibility. The only responsibility he had was to himself.

“I’ll be fine, Joff,” Priscilla said weakly, squeezing his hand gently in hers and drawing his attention back to her.

She looked impossibly small lying on the blankets and thinly stuffed mattress. The bare expanse of her back, marred by the lashes from her flogging, captivated him attention. He could see that the gypsies were taking good care of her. Though the edges of her wounds were a little red, that was to be expected considering the wounds themselves.

Jefferson sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, further messing it up. Ugh, feelings. They were so complicated.

Priscilla squeezed his hand, bringing his attention back to her. Absently, he reached out and moved a lock of her hair away from her face.

“Are you staying long?” She asked softly, watching him with warmth in her eyes.

“Do you want me to?” He asked without thinking about it, and then tossed her a weak form of his normally sly smirk.

“I don’t want you to get caught by the Guard,” Priscilla answered. “But I’d like it if you were around. You did promise to tell me stories of your adventures.”

“I did,” Jefferson allowed quietly, and then cut his eyes over to Esmerelda who was watching from the entrance of the wagon. 

She nodded at him, and moved to sit on a stool that was placed just outside of the wagon. He knew instinctively that she wasn’t just protecting Priscilla, but also him. Dammit. What was with all these bleeding hearts running amok in his life??

“I’ll tell you about my last adventure, then. There’s this beautiful, shining kingdom in this great valley. The castle is impressive with towering arches and beautiful architecture. The people are safe and content, ruled by a just king and queen who dearly love their people.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Priscilla murmured, her eyes shutting as she listened to Jefferson’s tale.

“It is,” Jefferson affirmed, watching her begin to fall asleep. “It’s called Camelot.”


	8. Chapter 8

Current Time : After The Curse Is Broken

Aubrey parked her lime green Ford Focus under the arching driveway of Grace’s fathers home. Peering through the front windshield, she stared in open mouthed surprise. It was a large manor house, almost completely hidden within the woods outside of Storybrooke, and yet close enough to see the town itself. The building itself was a rather monstrous house, imposing, with clean lines and yet had an old world charm that struck her.

She liked the large windows, open to the world, and the fact that the house seemed to be one with the world around it, with green, green foliage. Despite the fact that spring had only just arrived, and there was still a chill to the air, the world around the manor house was beginning to show life. Aubrey loved spring, when the world would wake up and sing.

Aubrey popped down the visor mirror and examined her reflection. She wasn’t wearing much in the way of makeup, having fretted and fluttered getting ready that morning. She’d wanted to look nice and appealing, but it was strange because she wasn’t sure what prompted this desire to look nice. Most of the time she just put on a blouse and a pair of good slacks, tossed her hair up in a bun on the top of her head, and went about her day.

That morning she had tried on several different outfits, thinking about how nice she wanted to look since she was to see Grace’s father again. She wasn’t certain how the other man made her feel, and while she wasn’t quite certain she liked it she didn’t stunt the impulse to dress nicely. Even if the other man was a stranger, he was a beautiful stranger and she did want to make a nice impression. Being covered in flour and frosting wasn’t really the kind of impression she wanted to leave such an enigmatic man.

So she’d put on her best blouse, a tunic length shirt in a pale dusky pink that had a peasant style neck line that bared her shoulders, and cinched at the three quarter sleeve mark. A pair of chocolate capri length slacks that flattered her curvy hips and a pair of white canvas flats completed the outfit, though she wore no jewelry at her ears or around her neck. Her hair was braided along the side of her head, and fell to just past her shoulder blades, with little wisps falling free to cup her face. She wore very minimal make-up – mascara, a bit of color to her cheeks, lip gloss that basically completed the outfit. She didn’t wear make-up often, if at all, because it was time out of her day that she could spend baking in her bakery, time out of her day where she could be in her element. So she mostly went without, not even perfume to mark her passing.

Getting out of her Focus, she pulled her wine colored pea coat closer around her to keep her warm. She walked quickly over to the other side of the car, opened the passenger door and reached in to grab the plastic tote box she’d put there. Inside were all of the ingredients needed to make Grace’s cupcakes and decorate them appropriately for a grand tea party. Aubrey was determined to make this as special of a day as she possible could.

Trudging up the walkway to the door, Aubrey knocked briskly on the door. The heavy oak door was flung open by a gleeful little girl who practically vibrated with excitement in the doorway.

“Aubrey!” Grace giggled, her light auburn curls dancing in the sunlight.

“Grace,” Aubrey laughed, hefting the box a little higher on her hip. “How are you doing today??”

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Grace said happily. “I woke Papa up early, so he could look nice when you came to visit.”

“I’m sure your father looks nice no matter what time he wakes up,” Aubrey said with a chuckle.

A low voice drawled from just out of sight, “I’m delighted you think so.”

A brilliant blush worked its way across her cheeks as she realized that she’d been overheard. Judging by the way he was smiling at her, Grace’s father was highly amused by her comment. Those blue eyes were dancing merrily as he stared at her, that devilish mouth smirking knowingly at her. The brilliant blue of his tie was offset by the steel grey of his button down shirt and black and navy pinstriped vest and made his eyes dance between grey and blue. That, added to the black slacks and comfortable leather oxfords, he looked like he ought to have been in a meeting room somewhere convincing corporate big-heads to part with their millions and letting them think it was all their idea in the first place. 

“Jefferson,” He said, holding his hand out for her to shake – and then grinning at her when he saw that she was carrying a rather large box. “My name,” he grunted, taking the box from her. “My name is Jefferson.”

“Oh, uhm…” Aubrey tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Aubrey.”

“I know,” Jefferson said with a strange smile at her, before he turned on his heel and began to walk away. “This way, Miss Aubrey.”

She stammered after him, “Just…uh, just Aubrey please.”

“Are you excited for our tea party??” Grace asked, taking Aubrey’s elbow and walking with her as they followed Jefferson down the hall and to a large spacious kitchen.

“Whoa,” Aubrey said, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen and staring about with wide gray eyes.

“Do you like it?”

Aubrey turned to Jefferson, who had placed her box on a counter and was looking at her from under his long lashes. He looked discomfited, nervous and a little afraid of her answer. She smiled at him brightly and nodded.

“It’s wonderful!” She said, clasping her hands and looking around at the beautiful cabinetry. “Look at it,” she said breathlessly, reaching out a hand to touch the countertops.

“I suppose,” Jefferson said a little dubiously, looking around. “We don’t spend much time in here.”

“Why not, it’s gorgeous!”  


“It reminds Papa of my Mama,” Grace said softly, and Aubrey turned to look at the little girl.

Grace was looking down at her rainbow colored socks, which had the individual toes. She was wearing a sparkling blue tutu and pink tights with small silver stars on the material. She had on a purple long sleeve shirt and her long hair was in twin plaits down her back. She wiggled her toes on the linoleum flooring and then looked up at Aubrey through her lashes, much in the same way that her father had.

The one look told her without words just what it felt like without Grace’s mother. She’d seen that look in the mirror for ages after the death of her parents. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aubrey said quietly, moving to warp her arm around Grace’s thin shoulders. “It’s a wonderful kitchen.”

“We do a lot of take out,” Jefferson joked, folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the countertops at his back. “Granny’s has got a killer delivery boy.”

“I didn’t know Granny delivered. So not fair.”

“We’re special,” Grace said smugly, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“So, what’s first?” Aubrey said with a smile.

Jefferson shifted before straightening up.

“I figured I would catch up with some paperwork,” he said, walking towards them and running his hand down the length of Grace’s braid, pulling on the end of the right one with a wink at his daughter. “While you two girlies enjoyed making cupcakes until it was tea time.”

Grace giggled helplessly at her father’s teasing, and when he tossed Aubrey a smile over his shoulder as he left, Grace smiled widely at the baker. If she wasn’t mistaken, Aubrey could see a little bit of mischievousness in her eyes.

“So what do you want on your cupcakes, Grace?” Aubrey asked, opening the tote that Jefferson had brought in for Aubrey and taking out ingredients.

“I was thinking pink, with purple stars and a couple rainbow colored ones…”

 

The scent of baking cupcakes and the sound of female laughter echoed through the cavernous house. Sitting in his study, Jefferson looked down blankly at his hands and just immersed himself within the noise and smells. How often had he sat in their cottage in the Enchanted Forest and listened to Priscilla patter away there, baking and talking to herself? Jefferson’s life back then had been filled with adventure and realm jumping. Falling in love with a brave little baker with a strong left hook hadn’t been in the cards for him.

But whenever he made it home, he immersed himself in the homey atmosphere that Priscilla had brought to his home. He would sit in the kitchen, close his eyes, tip his head back and sink into the sounds of her puttering around the room, baking something or another and singing to herself some ditty, or talking to herself. He’d known she was lonely there, before they’d begun to adventure together, and so she’d filled the silence with music or chatter. Soon enough, she’d drawn Jefferson into the conversation, willingly or not.

Listening to the sounds of his wife and his daughter in the kitchen filled him with a bittersweet longing. It was what he’d always wanted back when they loved in the Enchanted Forest, but not this way. Not with Priscilla – or rather, Aubrey – without her memory. Aubrey held the soul of Priscilla, but not the memories and experiences that she’d had that made her into the perfect partner for him. While she’d kept him grounded, she also gave him laughter and cheek.

Jefferson fisted his hands, futilely trying to strangle the desire to go into the kitchen and hold the stranger in his wife’s body close and never let her go.

The phone rang and he quickly picked it up so Grace didn’t run away from Aubrey to get it.

“Is she there?” Esme’s voice sounded over the line.

“Yes. In my kitchen. Baking cupcakes with Grace.”

Esme sighed softly and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. I just got a clue myself actually and called to update you on it.”

Jefferson sat forward in his leather chair, immediately focused on the phone call.

“I tracked down Keith Sawyer, you know. The Sherriff of Nottingham?” Esme continued as if she hadn’t paused for breath. “He’s been seen going into the bakery a lot more often lately than his usual bagel run. Seems he kept asking her out too, but she kept turning him down. He also took her to the emergency room the day the curse was broken.”

“He asked her out? After the curse had ended??” Jefferson asked indignantly.

“Focus, Hatter. She was in the ER the day the curse was broken, but it was after it had been broken. I’m going to go there to see what I can dig up.”

Jefferson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to sit across from her and pretend like I’ve just met her.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to. It wasn’t easy walking into the bakery after the curse had been broken and pretend to be ‘Allison’. You can’t let her know anything’s up, Grace’d be heartbroken if you scared her off. Just enjoy the time getting to know her again in this realm. We’ll get her back, but it’s gunna take time, you know. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“More like evil mastermind.”

“Hey now, I resemble that remark, “ Esme hung up on Jefferson’s chortle of laughter.

So Aubrey had been in the emergency room the day the curse had broken, when almost all others were in the town square looking for their loved ones or reuniting with them in the streets. A niggle of worry edged into his mind, a frown pulling over his features as he sat back in his chair. There could have been a million and five things to worry about concerning this hospital visit. Any number of things could have happened to Aubrey to cause her to visit the hospital, but on that particular day, after that particular hour? It almost seemed too coincidental.

He didn’t believe in coincidences in the first place, so this just made him more suspicious.  
Gentle knocking on his office door drew his attention, and he looked up to see Grace come bounding into the room with a brilliant smile on her face. He was helpless to resist smiling back. His daughter had her mother’s fire and zest in her soul, and he’d delighted in it ever since … well, ever since she’d been born.

“Papa, I brought you a cupcake!” She said with a happy giggle.

“Wonderful,” he said with a low chuckle. “I was just feeling puckish.”

Melodious laughter met his ears, as the woman who wore his wife’s face strode into his office, wiping her hands on her apron and smearing pink frosting on the fabric. She had flour dusted on her nose and a soft, warm smile on her lips. For a moment, she was superimposed with one of his last memories of Priscilla. Just like then, baking away to her hearts content, with that same warm, loving smile on her face. It was like a stab in the heart to see such a familiar sight, and know that she had no idea just how much it meant to him.

“Well, then you’ll be happy to note that we have saved plenty for your tea party.”

Jefferson cleared his throat after setting Grace on his lap, “Our tea party, I think you’ll find.”

“Ahh, I quite forgot,” She said with a chuckle. “Do I at least rate a tiara in this party?”

“You can be the Queen, I’ll be the Princess and daddy will be the Hatter.” Grace chirped, frosting smeared on her lips as she’d stolen a bite of her father’s cupcake.

“The Hatter?” Aubrey asked, coming further into the room with a laugh. “Like Alice in Wonderland?”

“Daddy hates Wonderland.” Grace intoned solemnly with a knowing nod.

Jefferson took a big bite out of the cupcake in her hands and mumbled with his mouth full, “You know it.”

“How can you hate Wonderland?” Aubrey asked with an eyebrow arched.

“Oh,” Jefferson drawled after a swallow of his (delicious) cupcake, “You have no idea.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - Canon appropriate Violence. Blood and injury. Oooh, look! A KISS!!

Approximately 14 Years Before The Curse  
Wonderland

 

“RUN!!”

Priscilla jerked her head in the direction of the shout, from where she had been in deep conversation with the singing flowers. The high necked shirt she wore, with its pearl buttons along the throat and down its front, was littered with pollen and smudges of dirt at the lace collars at her wrists. It was tucked into the high waist linen pants, which were then tucked into knee high black leather boots. Her long, auburn hair was tied away from her face, with loose tendrils hanging to her chin with delicate curves. She had far more freckles across her nose and cheeks than she had a year ago – before she had followed Jefferson on his madcap adventures.

Running at breakneck speed down the dirt path was Jefferson, his black jacket tails flying behind him, his blue eyes wide and his smile even wider.

“But – I-“ Priscilla stammered, yelping when Jefferson grabbed her elbow and began running with her.

“RUN NOW, LECTURE LATER!” Jefferson yelled, a slightly hysterical laugh in his voice.

“Jeffer-SON!” Priscilla yelled, barely keeping up.

“DUCK!”

Priscilla didn’t hesitate to follow the command, ducking down as a black spear sailed over her head. She gaped as she glanced at where it landed, seeing sharp razors lining the shaft of the spear. Surprisingly, she didn’t trip in the action and just kept running behind Jefferson who was cackling a little madly.

“What did you take, Jefferson?!” Priscilla yelled.

“Nothing they’d miss!” He yelled back, holding up a little black bag in his free hand.

“Obviously you’re wrong if they’re chasing you!”

“They don’t know any better!”

Shouts from behind them picked up in pitch and fury the closer they got to the portal. Priscilla glanced over her shoulder behind her and saw one of the white guards throw a black spear at Jefferson’s unprotected back. She reacted without thinking and threw her hand over and across her body, knocking the spear off its course from impacting with Jefferson.

Her scream made Jefferson stagger, whipping around to see what had happened. The razors imbedded within the shaft of the spear had torn her hand open viciously. Tucking the black bag into his pocket, he drew something else from another pocket and threw it at the guards chasing them. Immediately, purple black powder erupted from the ground in front of the guards, whisping up in thick smoke like tendrils and blocking them from view as both Jefferson and Priscilla continued running. He untucked his neck kerchief and once they passed through the portal into the body of the Hat, he turned to Priscilla.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice shaking as he looked at her steadily bleeding hand.

She gave him a rather wide eyed, incredulous look.

“Right. Stupid question,” Jefferson said, wrapping her hand with his neck kerchief, tying it tightly in order to stem the blood.

“Oh my god this hurts!” Priscilla said tightly, her jaw clenched in pain and her gray eyes swimming in tears of pain.

“Once we get home, I’ve got some liniment that’ll heal it up. It’ll leave a scar, but it won’t hurt anymore and it won’t be bleeding.” Jefferson winced at her grimace of pain and held her wounded hand up above her head as they jumped out of the Hat.

When they staggered out of the Hat, Jefferson guided her towards the sitting room of their home. Over the last year, Priscilla and Jefferson had integrated well into each other’s lives. Once Jefferson had brought her to his manor house, she had claimed the kitchen as hers and one of the massive guest rooms as hers. She made sure he ate and ate well, he brought her on the safer adventures that he could. They found that they got along quite well, in fact, Jefferson carefully hurdling over the line of being too obvious in his growing affection for her, and Priscilla allowed him to run away when his bravery seemed to fail him. If he’d just come right out and ask to court her, she’d allow it.

She’d stopped fighting her growing feelings for him about four months ago. He’d brought her the most delicately crafted tea set in beautiful rainbow colors – he wouldn’t answer if he’d stolen it or bought it which made her think that it was most definitely purchased. If he’d stolen it, he’d have outright said it, bragged about it even. But the fact that he hadn’t come right out and said that, leant credence to the idea that he’d bought it for her.

She’d mentally called it her ‘courting gift’.

“Here,” Jefferson said, taking her by the hips and hoisting her up onto the counter where she rolled the muffins only this morning. “Keep your hand above your head.”

Priscilla nodded, her face so pale that even her freckles had no color. She felt the slick slide of her blood down her arm, and winced at the fact that her favorite shirt was now ruined by the stain of it. Biting her lower lip in an effort not to burst into tears and to try and distract herself from the massive amounts of pain in her hand, she kept her head tipped back.

Jefferson came practically crashing into the kitchen again, carrying a small pink frosted glass bottle. He looked rather panicked, no sign of the earlier mischief and mayhem dancing in the blue depths. A wrinkle had appeared between his brows and his lips were tight and pressed thinly together. Color rode high on his cheekbones, Priscilla realized with a frown.

“Are you alright?” She asked tightly, frowning at him intently when he looked up from the bottle in his hands.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jefferson asked, gently taking her injured hand in his left hand and unwrapping the neck kerchief that he’d used as a makeshift bandage.

He winced visibly when the wound was shown to the open air. Priscilla kept her eyes averted, trying to distance herself from the pain of it. As if it were possible to ignore the wound in its entirety, as long as she didn’t look at it. Jefferson unscrewed the dropper lid from the pink frosted bottle, scowling down at the ravaged hand clutched tightly in his own.

“How could you be so reckless?” He asked, his teeth grit in frustration.

“Excuse me?” Priscilla asked, her gray eyes flying to his face incredulously. “I just saved your life.”

“Nobody asked you to,” Jefferson argued, drizzling a steady stream of the liquid from the bottle directly onto the wound. “I certainly didn’t.”

“Well next time I’ll just let you get impaled then!” Priscilla snapped back.

“Maybe next time I’ll just leave you behind!”

“You are so…so-“ Priscilla stammered in anger, before throwing her head back and yelling, “so stubborn!”

“Oh yeah, and you’re a bleeding heart!!” Jefferson yelled back. “That’s what I need on these adventures, someone without a speck of self-preservation!”

Priscilla balled up her free hand and socked him in the shoulder. Hard.

“OW!” Jefferson said with a shocked look on his face.

“Just because I care about other people than myself doesn’t make me a liability, Jefferson.” Priscilla snapped. “Just like being a pretentious bastard doesn’t make you a righteous man.”

Jefferson glowered at her, “You know…this isn’t the first time you’ve assaulted me.”

“Should we revisit the liquid cupcake diet again??” Priscilla spat in exasperation.

Jefferson continued glowering at her and dribbled more of the liquid from the pink frosted bottle onto her palm. After a moment of silence between the two of them, he glanced down at her hand and blinked in surprise.

“Huh. It worked.”

“What did,” Priscilla asked before looking down at her palm reflexively. “How…how is this possible?”

The wound on her hand was completely closed up. No blood other than what was smeared on her palm from pressing Jefferson’s neck kerchief against it was to be seen. Where before there was a great, big, bloody gash, was now completely healed. Along her palm, however, was a rigid, pale scar where the wound once.

The skin was sensitive, tingling with each gentle caress of his fingers. While it certainly wasn’t pretty, the pale scarring on her hand looked ages old rather than minutes fresh. Jefferson dragged his fingertips along the smooth skin of the wound, his mouth parted in wonder at the magic before him.

Glancing up at Priscilla, he watched her gaze at her hand with wondered awe on her face. Through his lashes, he studied her with mild irritation and no small amount of incredulity. No matter what happened, no matter the difficulties she'd faced, the life she'd lost and left behind, the lack of people around her and change in environment - she'd stayed. 

She'd had plenty of opportunities to find a different place - the Rroma had offered to take her in. Queen Susan from Narnia had practically pleaded with Priscilla to stay (although Queen Lucy hadn't been too far behind in her ardent pleas). Camelot had offered their kingdom for her refuge (Arthur's words, not Jefferson's). Arendale hadn't been too far behind that offer either. 

Wherever Priscilla went, she made friends. It was impossible not to like her it seemed. She cared so much about others, going out of her way to help everyone she could. She had the pick of the best realms he'd ever seen. 

And still, she stayed there. With him. In his dinky little safe house. She had made this house a home, baking and caring for him and watching his back and he couldn't imagine his life without her in it. 

The startled noise she made against his lips was throaty and surprised. It was addicting and he craved more. His hands slowly caressed their way down the strong, capable lines of her arms, to her shoulders where he tangled his fingers in her hair. He felt her melt against him, her lips parting with a gentle swipe of his tongue against them. 

Her warmth soothed the aching chill of his wandering soul and he was engulfed by her. It only took one second for his life to change forever. 

Just one second.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning - Canon Character Death(or is it???). Signs of violence and the results of what appears to be a death. 
> 
> Also a nurse breaks HIPPA. She’ll get into trouble, I promise because it’s illegal and there are consequences of that action. However, the story needed to progress and this is the way.

Current Day/Time - After The Curse Is Broken

 

The smell of antiseptics, chemicals and sickness clung to the air like a dingy blanket. Despite it being such a small town, Storybrook’s Hospital always had a sense of doom around it. A sense of hopelessness to the rooms, the tread on the floors, the gazes of the nurses and doctors. 

Perhaps especially the doctors, Esme thought as she walked down the halls towards the emergency apartment. They scurried here there and everywhere trying to save lives in this false town, this false community when it truly meant nothing so long as Regina held sway.  


They were fighting a losing battle and they knew it. 

Straightening up sharply, Esme smiled widely at Emily - the nurse on duty at the ER admission desk. One of the few people who knew Esme and (coincidentally) Priscilla. Emily had helped the two women out of a tight bind when a certain realm hopper had gotten snagged by the law in some backwater town of King George's. 

“Esme!” Emily said with a grin and getting to her feet to round the desk. “It's good to see you! Are you alright?”

Esme fell into the hug the other woman offered freely and chuckled mirthlessly. 

“I've certainly been better,” Esme groused and pulled away. “How're things here?”

“Quiet for the most part. Everyone's coming here looking for loved ones just in case. Smart, not to just rely on the town square.”

“And in that case, I'm glad I made the trip.”

“Oh?” Emily asked, frowning at the other woman in concern as they walked back to the desk for a bit of privacy. “Are you looking for someone?”

“More like something that happened to someone, “ Esme replies with a sigh as she sat down. “Priscilla.”

Emily blanched and looked down at her desk as she took her own seat. 

“I heard about her. She showed up with the Sheriff of Nottingham the day the curse was lifted with no memory of being Priscilla.” Emily shook her head and tucked a lock of her short greying hair behind her ear.

“He told me that part,” Esme said, “But nothing about what brought them here in the first place.”

“I'm not sure…”

“Emily. She's sitting down right this minute with a child that's her own and a husband who's believed she's been dead for decades - with no knowledge who these two people are to her. Grace doesn't deserve this and neither does Priscilla.”

“What about Jefferson?”

“I suppose he doesn't deserve it either,” Esme grumbled with a huff and smiled when Emily cackled with laughter. 

“I know you better than you think, little girl. You and he are far more close to friends than enemies. Did you ever tell him why you'd been caught?”

“It doesn't matter. I told him I'd been arrested for aiding and abetting a fugitive.” Esme rolled her eyes in exasperation when Emily scowled at her . “It was the truth.”

“Barely.”

“Well, that's all he's going to know right now. Can you help or not?”

Emily stared at Esme for a moment before letting out a gusty sigh. 

“She'd been hiking just outside of Walkens Creek. She said that she must have been startled by something and knocked herself out cold. The next thing she knew Keith was rushing towards her as she got her bearings and began heading back into town,” Emily explained. “She had a nasty cut at her left temple, seems she hit her head on a rock. It could be a symptom of amnesia.”

“But then she wouldn't remember being Aubrey either, right?” Esme asked in confusion.

“Correct. So I have no explanation really.” Emily paused for a moment and Esme’s eyes focused on her familiar face with laser like intensity. 

“You know something.”

“Just rumors,” Emily licked her lips and leaned forward, with Esme mimicking the move unconsciously to create more privacy. “It seems the dwarves tested the boundaries of the town. Sneezy crossed the territory line and reverted to the memories that Regina gave him. He had no memories of being Sneezy.”

Esme felt her face pale as she digested this news. 

“And Walkens Creek-”

“Runs parallel with the town territory line. My best guess is that whatever startled her pushed her past that line-”

“And then she hit her head,” Esme finished softly. 

Emily reached out and grasped Esme’s tightly knowing that the dark haired woman was struggling with this new fact. 

“I've heard that the dwarves went to the Blue Fairy to see if it could be remedied. Try there next.”

“The Fairy has no love of me.”

“I think in this case she can't afford the bad karma of not helping those in need,” Emily argued back. “Haven't you heard about the failsafe??”

Esme completely stilled, barely breathing and hardly daring to blink. Because that certainly didn't sound ominous. 

“What failsafe?”

 

Before The Curse - Three Month’s After Graces Birth

 

While this job had certainly not been as dangerous as those in his reputation, someone had had to stay behind to their little Grace. Priscilla, still breastfeeding, had practically shoved him out the door laughing.

He'd been fascinated by their daughter, delighting in every coo and movement. It was obvious that she'd take after his wife, her mother, and that made him love the babe ever more. 

So when he came home. He knew without a doubt something was wrong. 

The house was eerily quiet. No lights on, no movement within the walls. Nothing. Jefferson paused, taking that in. Priscilla always had a light on, even as late as it was. She kept a lantern burning in the front parlor window for him, and kept a meal in the oven just in case.  
A chill danced up his spine and he dashed up their small walkway to the front door. Reaching out to open it, that chill turned to ice as he saw it was partially open. A splash of color caught his attention, raising his eyes to the door jamb. 

Crimson red streaked the white doorframe, in a near perfect handprint. As if someone had gripped the frame on their way out the door. 

“CILLA!!!” Jefferson's voice tore and turned ragged as he called for his wife. 

The off kilter ticking of a clock reached his ears as he turned the corner into the parlor. Their home. All of their things. They were in tatters and ripped to shreds. Their books were torn apart, papers strewn everywhere like macabre confetti. The cushions of their settee, their pillows littered the floor like downed clouds. 

Whatever had happened, though, he could see little signs of Priscilla fighting back. Knives imbedded into the wall from her throws, one of her rolling pins cracked down the center from the force of a blow. 

But no Priscilla. 

Opening his mouth to call for his wife again, a soft sound caught his attention instead. A whimper. 

“Grace…” He breathed. 

Tearing in the direction of the sound, he headed for the kitchen. 

Just one second.

And his world ended. 

Priscilla lay in a pool of blood, sightless gray eyes staring up at the ceiling. Her mouth was parted just slightly, as if she were about to say something but had lost her train of thought. Her pale blue dress (one of his favorites on her) was covered by a white apron - but both were slick with her blood. 

She lay in front of her cooking counter. It was the warmest spot in the house, where she would lay her muffins, cakes, cookies and breads to cool before packing them up for donating or for presents. He was pretty certain that Grace had been conceived on that counter.  


The pain in his knees was what brought him back to the present. He'd fallen to the floor in front of her body, a low sound echoing around him eerily. 

It was him. The sound. 

The ragged keen ripping its way out of his throat was hardly painful in comparison to the wail of agony trapped in his chest. He didn't even realize that he'd reached out for her until she was in his arms. 

She was still warm. She was completely lax in his arms. Unable to look into her empty eyes, Jefferson pulled her close and buried his face into her froth of hair. Her weight should have been comforting, but instead all it did was remind him that he was too late. Always too late.  


Clutching Priscilla's body to his own, he wept into her unbound hair, rocking back and forth as his fingers aches clutching her so close to him. Her blood was staining his clothes and he half expected her to start scolding him about another wardrobe ruined but there was nothing.  
Just one second. 

That soft sound reached his ears again and his reality snapped into focus. Grace. Where was Grace?

He realized with a stunning clarity that the sound was directly in front of him. Priscilla had been lying in front of her cooking counter, blocking the cupboard doors. With grievous effort, he placed Priscilla's body on the ground again and opened the cupboard doors directly in front of him. Directly behind what his wife had been lying before. 

Grace sat in her rocker basket that had been given to them from Queen Susan. Bundled for warmth, her large blue-gray (her mother's her mother's Priscilla oh god) luminous with tears that trickled down her face. She even held the stuffed white rabbit that Priscilla had haphazardly knitted for their daughter as a poke of fun at Jefferson. 

And it struck him.

Priscilla had hidden their daughter away, in this cupboard, and given her life to protect her. She'd died leaning against the cupboard, blocking any chance to get to the three month old. There were no bodies of the assailants that his baker had fought, which meant that whoever they were had taken their dead with them to hide whoever had done the attack was smart.  
But not smart enough to find the baby. 

Reaching into the cupboard he could barely see through his tears, Jefferson cradled their daughter close as he wept. 

Just one second.

And his life was changed completely.


	11. Chapter 11

Current Date and Time

Finding the Blue Fairy was relatively easy, all things considered. Getting to see her, well. That was certainly another story. 

Esme and Jefferson had had past run ins with the Blue Fairy once or twice, leaving the three of them often at disparate odds. Jefferson found the whole saintlike approach to her powers frustrating and irritating, Esme found the Blue Fairy’s stringent morals and unbending will to be infuriating and enraging when so many still suffered. And the Blue Fairy?

Well. 

Perhaps the less said of her thoughts on the two thieves the better. 

Jefferson and Esme stood to the side of the town square, Jefferson fairly vibrating with the need to just snatch the woman and go. Esme had more patience if only because her disdain for the other woman was so great. 

God help the outcasts indeed.

The day before had been an exercise in torture, in Jefferson's opinion. Tea had been the stuff of dreams, achingly bittersweet in the knowledge that his wife (his love his love Priscilla oh god Priscilla) was there with him and their child. Dinner had been just as lovely (thank god for Granny's - the peas had been the only thing he'd been able to salvage). 

But he'd had to let Aubrey/Priscilla leave at the end of the night. His arms had aches with the need to pull the woman close, breathe her scent in and overwrite the last scent memory he had of her (blood iron tang salt blood). Feel her curves pressed against him, taste the witchcraft of her lips. 

None of that had happened. Although, a part of him had wondered if she'd seen the desperate need in his face as he'd walked her to the door and then to her car. The tremble in his smile as he thanked her for coming, thanked her for taking care of Grace while he'd been away (didn't thank her for breathing, for drawing precious oxygen into her lungs, for giving birth to Grace, for saving him, always saving him). 

So instead, he'd kissed the back of her hand, smiled at her and watched her drive away in that green monstrosity. Gone back inside, tucked his daughter into her bed, and almost drank himself into a stupor. 

When Esme had come by near the dead of night with what she had discovered, they had both raged. And drank. And slept on the couch (well, he on the couch, she'd still had had the sense to find a spare bedroom).

This morning, Jefferson had dropped Grace off at school while he and Esme prepared for battle against the Blue Fairy. And it would be a battle. That damn pixie wouldn't want to help them, and they knew it. 

But yet again, it would be Priscilla who would assist them. Priscilla had made friends with the Blue Fairy ages ago, helping the pixie menace with some task or another (Jefferson tried to block that memory out - it was one of the few times he and Priscilla had actually argued). So the Blue Fairy, in essence, owed her. 

“What next?”

Jefferson turned to Esme at the question. They were watching the crowd around them, recognizing faces here and there but not engaging in any way. Those that they wanted to engage and speak with weren't here. They were the outcasts - the Rroma, the few residents of Wonderland that had passed muster and a few surprise faces that he hadn't thought the curse would touch - and they were outside the town proper but still within the limits of the territory. 

“What do you mean?” Jefferson asked, watching Mary Margaret speak with one of Blue’s pesterful pixies. 

“Even if we get her memories back, there's still the failsafe. We're still not safe here.”

“We could go somewhere else. Magic is in the air now. We could Hop,” Jefferson was thinking out loud.

“If you reveal that Hat, everyone is going to use it,” Esme muttered, scowling at the ground in irritation. 

Jefferson's silence caught her attention. Looking up and over at him, she caught the considering look in his eyes. 

“You know something.”

The accusation sounded more amused than angry.

“King George has been making noises about using the Hat to go back to the enchanted forest. But I've made hundreds of look alikes. Hundreds.”

The grief on his face was as loud as a banshees cry and she was reminded that he'd spent 28 years watching the world around him with his memory intact, and before that trapped with the Queen of Hearts. Making and remaking and remaking the Hat. 

“Are you saying-”

“We could Hop somewhere safe. And burn it when we're there.”

She gaped openly at him. 

“Destroy the…. Are you serious?” Esme asked in shock. “But that's all you have from. Well. It's your Hat!”

“It's a Hat now. I have my daughter. Soon to have my wife. We're not safe here, even if the failsafe falls through. I know a Realm we can go to. It's still got magic, and it's rustic as hell but…” he trailed off. 

“But?”

“I haven't seen anyone from that realm. Which tells me that Regina and her magic didn't reach it,” Jefferson answered. “Which means it's got its own protections, it's own magic and it's own defenses.”

“Is it safe??” Esme asked through numb lips. 

“We can make it safe. Back when I was traveling more, it was very much like the enchanted forest. Now? I don't know. I can't know until I see it. But we can take anyone who wants to go. They have to know they can't come back - here or to the Enchanted Forest. This would be the last trip through the Hat.” Jefferson folded his arms across his chest and sighed softly. “If we go, we're there for the rest of our lives. People would need to know.”

Esme looked out into the mass of people in front of them, staring at the happy if stressed faces there. They wouldn't leave. Oh, they'd talk about it - going somewhere else and being away from Regina but. They'd want to go back to the enchanted forest. And then they'd want to be able to come back here, to Storybrooke. 

They wanted to save this town. Esme and those she loved just wanted to be safe, sound and secure. Even now, with all of these people with their memories back - no one had opened a damned door to her people, to Jefferson's friends and allies. They were still damned to the outskirts of society. 

And damn if that didn't burn. 

“Where is this place?” Esme asked. 

Jefferson hesitated and finally shook his head as finally (FINALLY) the Blue Menace turned her attention to the two thieves and/or criminals in the regular people midst. For the two of them, it was easy to see the flash of irritation and judgmental disdain through those old eyes. 

Esme and Jefferson, unconsciously and simultaneously, bared their teeth in a exaggerated parody of a smile. It was full of teeth and aggression rather than warmth and friendly feelings. 

There definitely was no love lost between the three of them. 

 

 

“Miss Aubrey!!” Came Graces voice in the front of the bakery, chiming along with the bells of her door. “Papas is visiting friends can I come visit with you?”

Aubrey didn't even hesitate in calling back in the affirmative as she pulled out the two large loaves of bread from the oven. Allison has left a message in her voicemail about a sudden influx of homeless people in the woods just outside of town and asked if there would be anything she could do to help feed them. 

She'd offered to pay but Aubrey instantly rejected the idea. Not that Allison knew that, but that was neither here nor there. 

“Do you have homework??” Aubrey called as she walked through the swinging doors into the front of the store where Grace was, already setting up at the counter with her books. 

“Yeah,” Graces nose scrunched in youthful irritation as she scowled down at her book bag. “Reading and a paper on the story.”

“I always loved reading,” Aubrey reached under the glass covered countertop and passed over a freshly made breakfast bar. 

She smiled when Grace immediately began eating it without even looking and practically inhaled it. 

“I like it too,” Grace said after a moment, “But I like it when Papa reads with me. He does different voices and tells me things that aren't in the books.”

“Oh? Does he make up his own stories??” Aubrey asked, chuckling at the thought of Jefferson acting out different stories (the idea of him acting out Shakespeare was mentally hilarious). 

“No, he just knows a lot of stuff,” Grace said with a grin. 

“I imagine he does,” Aubrey chuckled. 

As Grace quietly began reading her book, Aubrey continued working on the bread she was making. Allison hadn't mentioned if there were any children in the group she spoke of, but Aubrey had already baked enough cookies and sweets just in case. After about an hour of baking and singing along quietly to the internet radio playlist she'd created way back when, she turned to find Grace watching her with a strange look upon her face. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Aubrey asked softly, wondering about the expression she girl wore. 

“No. It's just…”. The young girl trailed off, biting her lower lip and looking down at her papers in front by of her. 

“Just what?”

“It's nice..” Grace hushed out, her cheeks flaring in a blush. “Being here like this. Usually it's just me and Papa, and that's so amazing, even now but.”

Aubrey patiently waited for her to gather her thoughts, partially because she could see that Grace was wanting to say something specific and partially because Aubrey understood what she was trying to say in the first place. 

When Grace raised gray eyes to Aubreys face, filled with tears and misery and no little amount of fear, Aubrey wasn't able to stop herself from moving around the counter and hugging the girl tightly. Grace’s grip was almost frantic, trembling as she held on. Aubrey kissed her auburn hair and rocked her gently as the girl cried quietly. 

“Is this what having a Mum feels like?” Came the little girls voice, choked up and tear filled. 

“Ohh, sweetheart,” Aubrey murmured softly, pressing a kiss to the girls brow. “I imagine it does. I can't replace your mum, honey. All I can do is be here for you.”

“Always, right?”

“Forever and ever,” Aubrey replied, wiping the girls cheeks with her thumbs and smiling a watery smile down at her. “Now, what book are your writing your report on?”

“I found it in the library,” Grace sniffled, turning to the pages in front of her. “A Yankee In King Arthur's Court.”


	12. Chapter 12

Current Day:Time

 

It surprised neither of them that Aubrey/Priscilla had baked about 80-million loaves of bread and practically emptied her stocks of sweets and treats to give to the people just outside of town. Esme had tried to pay for everything and Aubrey had simply stared her down. 

Jefferson felt that he ought to laugh at that but then she informed him that Grace was having a girls night with her and he found himself agreeing under that same no nonsense stare. 

She still had the power to make him want to shuffle his feet and agree to just about anything. 

Dammit. 

When they arrived at the makeshift camp where their ragtag group was living wild, a loud cheer rose up. As the food was passed around, both Esme and Jefferson gathered those considered to be in charge around to bonfire to tell them the plan. 

As they waited for everyone to arrive, Jefferson looked around for familiar faces. He hadn't had much in the way of friends before Priscilla's death and after- well. 

After her death he'd pulled away from just about everyone and anyone. 

Standing before the fire, looking as Esme handed out the bread and bottled water bottles that Aubrey/Priscilla had purchased, Jefferson was caught off guard by a familiar voice from behind him. 

“Seems to me, Hatter, you've a lot of explaining to do now.”

A wide, shocked smile crossed his face as Jefferson turned and laughed. There, bold as brass and bigger than life stood one of his oldest (and truest) friends. The March Hare, they'd called him once. 

“Hamilton.” 

A broad smile met his words, painfully blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Blond hair cut short along the sides and swept away from a friendly face shone in the firelight, the man's skin golden from the setting sun - he was certainly a sight for sore eyes. 

“Did you get bigger?” Jefferson asked with a low laugh that was echoed by the other man as they slapped each other's backs in a hug. 

“I joined the army.”

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.”

“Have you been here since the beginning?”

“Yeah,” Hamilton reached up and scratched at the full beard on his chin. “She named me Tobias. Tobias, Jefferson.”

“Sounds like an artists name,” Jefferson said with a laugh, which turned into a cackle as a faint blush stained the blonds cheeks. “No! Say she didn't!”

“He won't admit it, but I will,” came a sultry voice from behind Hamilton. 

As the larger man turned, Jefferson's eyes widened and he laughed happily. The White Queen stood there with her arms crossed over her chest and a familiar smirk on her face. The sultry brunette that had been on quite a few of her own adventures smiled back at his and for once - just once - his memories of Wonderland weren't tinged with bitterness and frustration.

“I knew it!” Jefferson crowed, which only increased Hamilton's blush and widened the woman's smile. “I knew it! How in the hell did he finally get the gumption to snatch you up?”

“Well,” The White Queen said with a sly grin to the March Hare, “What makes you think he snatched me up in the first place?”

“Madge,” Hamilton grumbled/whined at her, practically fidgeting in place. “C’mon.”

“Oh, this is just amazing,” Jefferson cackled. “The March Hare has met his crazy match. It's the best thing ever.”

“Jefferson,” Esme drawled from off to the side, diverting his attention from his old friends. “Meetings about to start.”

“I'll be right there,” he said.

As he turned back to the two previous Wonderland occupants he caught their appraising looks and immediately gagged. 

“No. Just no. That is not my wife.”

“She sure seems to have your number, Hatter,” Madge said with a wicked grin. 

“Seems like bossy would be right up your alley,” Hamilton continued the train of thought.

“No. My wife is nothing like Esme. No.”

“Well, in either case, we're the ones chosen to represent the few of us from Wonderland,” Hamilton said, his broad body stepping forward in the direction Esme had started off in. 

“Darling,” Madge called, an eyebrow raised as she waited for her husbands attention. 

“Yes, dear?” Hamilton replied, turning back to the White Queen. 

“While you are my equal in all things, this isn't a tactical meeting. Keep this in mind.”

“Right. So no explosives?” Hamilton asked hopefully. 

“No explosives,” both Madge and Jefferson intoned severely. 

“Damn.”

As the March Hare walked away, both the White Queen and the Mad Hatter sighed and looked at one another, shaking their heads at Hamilton's downtrodden expression and body language. 

“I might be able to find something for him to blow up later,” Jefferson offered, holding the crook of his elbow out for Madge to take. 

“Please, don't encourage him, Jefferson. He can cope without his excessive need for dramatics.”

As they turned towards the meeting place, Jefferson couldn't help but ask as they walked. 

“So you and The Hare.”

“Stop it now,” Madge cautioned with a chuckle. 

“I can't help it! I knew you two would be perfect for one another, but could hardly get you two in the same room let alone acknowledge one another. How did this happen?”

Madge was silent for a moment, and Jefferson let her collect her thoughts as they walked. The warm chatter and laughter of the group of people surrounding them was soothing in its own way. The sound of hope and excitement in the air was comforting and exciting at the same time. 

“The Red Queen invaded. My generals were out fending them off. No one could find you - we realized much later that this was during the time that you'd left the Enchanted Forest and were imprisoned with the Red Queen but at the time. We worried and searched.”

“I. I didn't think-”

“Hamilton never stopped looking for you. Neither did I, although my Generals advised giving up the search. I imagine he will guilt you into a great many things for a long while after we get through all of this.”

“Probably. I have a lot to make up for.”

“When she invaded, it left the castle unprotected. I had sent out my armies to the smaller villages to protect them. I hadn't thought she'd had an agent in our midst. There I was, by myself when suddenly this great lump of muscles and indignant fury practically picks me up and tries to cart me off ‘for my own protection’ as it were. 

“Well, I was having none of that. After knocking him down a peg or stair or two, I refused to just cower behind this crazy man in any way. When he explained what he'd discovered and who he was…”

“He is rather convincing when he wants to be,” Jefferson said softly, watching ahead of them as Hamilton bent down to speak to a little girl in braids. “Stubborn.”

“Dramatic.”

“Absolutely insane.”

“No self preservation.”

“Strategic genius but little to no ability to speak to a woman.”

“And yet he inspired me to rally the few forces I had in the castle, hashed a battle plan that was the edge of insanity and we managed to escape with all of our lives.”

Jefferson saw the brunettes hesitation and it suddenly dawned on him what she wasn't saying. 

“You has no idea that I was there, Madge,” the portal jumper said, patting the deceptively delicate hand on the crook of his arm. “She had me for ages trying to make The Hat. No one knew I was there, everyone thought I was in the Enchanted Forest.”

“We should have looked harder for you, Hatter.” Madge took a deep breath and looked at him with hard brown eyes. “You deserved better.”

Jefferson knew he couldn't argue with her about this. Madge was one of the most honorable people he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting and he knew she'd carry the guilt of this until she felt she'd worked it off. There was nothing he could do or say to alleviate that. 

Finally, they reached the main tent that everyone had seemingly designated for The Meeting Place. People milled around with the bread Priscilla had made. There were several children running amok with her cookies and brownies - and if he wasn't mistaken, Hamilton was trying to bargain with an eight-year old little girl for a cupcake. 

And failing. 

Esme raised her hands and silence descended on the small group and people began to settle. 

“We've all been told of the fail safe - and yet nobody has reached out to help us,” Esme began in her clear voice. “But the Hatter has a plan.”

That opened the floor to Jefferson, who took a deep steadying breath. 

“I've been Regina’s prisoner for just over 28 years; watching my daughter, seeing her living with strangers and trying to find a way home. A way free. But with no magic, all the hats I made were useless.”

Jefferson paused, glancing over at Esme who nodded just enough for him to know that he had her support (which, he was surprised to find himself desperately needing). He turned back to the crowd watching him. 

“But Magic has come to Storybrooke. And so it has come to the Hat. Which is in my possession.”

The low sound of murmurs went through the crowd, each person speaking softly to the others of their little ragtag groups. Before it could grow too loud, Madge stepped forward into the firelight. 

“You say your Hat is functional.”

“Yes, it is. It feels-” here Jefferson paused, searching for the right word to use and finally settling with “-awake. Aware.”

“Have you tested it?” 

“Not yet. Mostly because I've unresolved issues here and I've been bonding with my daughter. But I plan on testing it shortly.”

“Where will you go?” This came from a familiar vagabond - Robin Hood. “Is there anywhere safe?”

“There was a place I visited in the past - I have not seen any of the people there here in Storybrooke. This tells me that Regina's magic has no reach there. If this is true, then it might be safe for us.”

“Might?” Came a growling voice from the left, a tall figure standing deep in the shadows of the firelight. “So you don't know for certain?”

“He just said he hadn't tested the Hat yet, Elliot,” Esme said with a sigh, “so of course he hasn't tried it yet.”

“I'm going to be trying it tomorrow,” Jefferson explained, “I wanted to let those of us who're out of the loop in on the decision. If this place is safe, secure and if they agree to take us in, I need to tell them how many of us would be coming through the Hat.

“This is a one way trip.” Jefferson said firmly, staring at the various leaders in front of him. “Once were all there, I'll be destroying the Hat. There's no coming back, there will be no one else going through. That's the only way this will work.”

“King George is hunting for the Hat,” Esme explained over the noise of surprised murmurings. “If he gets his hands on it, there's no telling what he’ll do with it. Not to mention Regina wants it, as does Snow and Charming. 

“We are the outcasts of the fairy tale world - of the Enchanted Forest. Of all of our worlds, we are the ones sitting here on the outskirts of a city who could have taken us in - no matter if they had their memories back or not. Instead, the majority of us were calmly but firmly told they didn't want us in Storybrooke especially once everyone remembered who they were. 

“We are not included in their decisions. We weren't asked for a vote. Our lives are just as important as theirs and yet we're not heard. We need to take our own future in our own hands and decide.”

Esme’s eerie turquoise eyes searched the faces of the people in front of them before focusing on Jefferson. 

“The Rroma are in agreement that if this place is safe, and they can support us, we will go through the Hat.”

Silence met her words. Everyone's attention turned to Jefferson, and he nodded firmly. 

“I'll find a haven for us, no matter what.”

“Where are you checking?” Hamilton asked, coming to put his hand on Jefferson's shoulder. 

Jefferson smiled a little and answered, “Camelot.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - talk of miscarriage, imprisonment and mentioning of the LGBTQ community in a roundabout way (it’s not terribly specific, but you’ll see it) to imply persecution.

Before the curse 

 

The rusty squeal of heavy barred doors startled her awake. Sitting up in her cell, Esme looked through the dim light available to see what was going on. 

There was movement in the cell next to her and she scooted closer in order to see the newest edition to King George’s dungeons. The dress and the length of hair suggested this new resident was a woman, but those things could also mean anything really. She and her people knew that best of all. 

Outcasts were outcasts - even if you identified differently. 

Either way, the guards carrying the prisoner had little care for whoever it was, tossing the person into the cell and slamming the door shut. After locking it with an ominously loud click, they walked away. 

Only the drip drip drip of water falling from the damp ceiling interrupted the silence. 

“Hello?” Esme called, her voice rough from disuse. “Are you alright??”

The body on the dirty stone ground shifted slightly before sitting up gingerly and looking around.

“Where in heavens name…”

“Priscilla?!”  


Esme cried out before reaching through the bars for her friend - a friend she hadn't seen in just about seven months now. Priscilla gripped Esme’a hands tightly in hers and they embraced as close as they could through the iron bars. Tears were shed as they reassured each other that they were each as alright as possible. 

“What happened? Why are you here??” Priscilla asked tearfully, leaning back and wiping her face with a free hand. 

“Aiding and abetting a fugitive of the law,” Esme said with a blasé shrug. 

Even in the dim light, Esme saw Priscilla scowl at her. 

“The last job anyone knows you did was with Jefferson.”

“Yes.” 

“What happened?”

Esme sighed deeply. 

“We got separated. Before that we'd said that we'd take a break from meeting up for a year just in case someone had caught on to us working together. Someone, either in his camp or mine, betrayed us and I was captured by Queen Regina’s men. She, in turn, traded me for something or someone to King George. I've been here since. No one knew, Cilla. I imagine Regina liked it that way.

“What about you? Why are you here? I thought for certain that you would be as far away from here as possible.”

Priscilla took a deep trembling breath. 

“You know I had a baby.”

Esme’s breath caught in her throat. She knew of her dearest friends wish to be a mother. She knew that Priscilla and Jefferson had been trying for years to have another baby. She hadn’t known for certain that they'd succeeded. 

“A baby girl.” Priscilla continued, her voice thickening with tears and sorrow. “We named her Grace. I named you her godmother.”

Esmeralda didn't bother stifling the sob in her chest. Fear was a living, fighting thing in her chest now. 

“Jefferson was off on one last job - one for The Dark One. He's been gone for a while longer than we thought he would be but. That's the job in a nutshell. 

“I had only a moments warning before King George and his men arrived. I hid Grace - she, she was sleeping, you see. She's such a quiet baby, so good and sweet and - and I couldn't let them hurt her. So I hid her and tried to stifle where she was so she wouldn't wake up if. If I fought.”

“Oh, Cilla…”. Esme cried, burying her face in her hands. 

“I fought them. I wasn't going to let them take my baby. I wasn't going to let them use her against Jefferson. I broke my rolling pin over Calum’s head and the next thing I knew he. He was in my home. 

“He was in my HOME.” Priscilla snarled through her tears and Esme heard the anger there as clear as she could hear the grief. “He said that. That it was a shame that Jefferson wasn't there and that they would have to make due with me. But that it was a good thing anyways because his failure in punishing me embarrassed him and was a stain on his honor. He. They didn't know about Grace, y’see. We hadn't told anyone - hadn't wanted to tell anyone until her first birthday when we knew. When we knew she'd be okay, since. Isaiah.”

Isaiah had been their son, who hadn't lived to see his third month. The grief had been almost too much for Priscilla and Jefferson and Esmeralda had fought to keep her friends from simply fading away. 

“They took me, but. They left behind this…. It looked just like me, Esmeralda. It wasn't me, but it looked like me and I was dead. They left me sprawled in front of my warming table. Where I’d hidden Grace. They said that King George had made a deal with the Queen to get his due and to make Jefferson suffer for playing him the fool. For having success where King George had seen only failure.”

“Did they know she was there?”

Priscilla took a moment to compose herself, before answering “I don't think so. She'd been so quiet. Through all of that noise, she hadn't made a sound. Oh, god what am I going to do?? They'll think I'm dead. They'll see that body and think I'm dead when I'm here and can't hold them.”

“Cilla,” Esme sniffled, reaching her hands through the bars again, gripping her closest friends hands tightly in her own. “Cilla, they'll live. That's the important part. You protected your daughter. You saved her, Cilla.”

Both of them huddled against one another, pressed up against the bars between them and wept for the lives they left behind. There would be no escape. There would be no rescue. 

There was only them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please Note: I have No Beta Reader. I am definitely LOOKING for a beta reader who can tolerate me and my craziness. This Story has several chapters already written, but not finished (yet). I'm shamelessly asking for opinions and thoughts, and if you are going to criticise, please at least do it politely or with kindness (I have fragile feelings). 
> 
> Updates Every FRIDAY - Also On WATTPAD but still iffy on that :/


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